


MI Pi: The Pudding Affair

by CatWinchester, evieplease



Category: Taylor Swift - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Conspiracy Theories, Crack Fic, F/M, Farce, Hiddleswift - Freeform, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Tom Hiddleston as the dashing English actor and darling of the Internet, and Taylor Swift as the talented and beautiful American songstress. Together they are the Golden Couple.</p><p>What no one sees is what goes on behind the scenes.</p><p>Recruited by MI Pi, Taylor is a top agent, saving the world from the Very Evil Group and their dastardly machinations, one case at a time.</p><p>New recruit Tom and his handler, Taylor, are charged with recovering an ancient text that could hold the key to humanity’s bright future, but V.E.G. are determined to keep the book for themselves.</p><p>Tom and Taylor have their work cut out just staying alive but it soon becomes clear that when running for your lives, fame is more of a huge hindrance than a help.</p><p>Down on their luck and with no other options, they turn to their fans to help them.</p><p>Can fangirls save the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many mad conspiracy theories flying around about Hiddleswift, so we decided to have fun with them. What's the real reason Tom is with Taylor? 
> 
> No offence is meant, we actually like Taylor, we're just choosing to laugh rather than cry at all the hostility in the fandom right now.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Damn! Tom's Personal assistant Olly (and fellow agent, code name Sugar Pi) had texted him that his nemeses were triangulating in on his location. He'd have to wrap this up quickly and disappear for a bit. The text informed him that there was a safe house not far away where he could hole up until things died down.**

Tom carefully set his mobile down on the pristine white tablecloth and smiled genially at his lunch companion, a so -called journalist from Food and Wine magazine. She smiled back with a certain hungry shark like quality, looking for all the world as if she was going to eat him up. Tom kept his shudder of distaste inside. She would just have to go hungry.  

He glanced casually around the sunny cafe, taking note of the other lunchtime patrons, talking, laughing, eating... Except for that one lone bloke at a table about 3 meters away. The balding man sat with a cup of coffee cooling in front of him and an untouched piece of pie as he pretended to be absorbed in his newspaper. The fact that his eyes weren't moving across the print was a dead giveaway.  

He needed an escape route but if Sugar Pi had texted him, then he knew plans must be in motion. Right now he was in a public place and with a reporter so whilst his enemies wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, they would have to be discrete about it.  As long as Tom wasn’t an idiot, he had some time.  

How did he get himself into this situation, he wondered, conceding that it might have something to do with swinging from the chandeliers last night.  

***  

**12 HOURS EARLIER**

He wasn’t swinging from actual chandeliers, he conceded, but from the rafters at the top of one of the Vatican’s many libraries.  

He was here for a book, the Sermons of Solomon, which was said to have mystical powers. VEG or the Very Evil Group as they were formally known, wanted to discover the secrets of the book to help further their plans to enslave the entire world, hence why Tom was stealing it first.  

He tugged at one of the straps in his groin.  

“We have to get more comfortable harnesses,” he whispered. His earpiece was sensitive enough to pick up even his whispers.  

“That’s not important,” his handler, Treacle Tart replied rather tartly from the comfort of their upscale, rather twee hotel room in downtown Rome.  

“If your potential children were on the line, you’d care.” 

“No, I wouldn’t.”  

He believed her. He could hear typing through his earpiece as she spoke.  

“Okay, Pumpkin, the Vatican security is down, you have exactly 300 seconds to get that book and get back above the laser field.”  

“You told me I had five minutes!” he sounded shocked as he lowered the winch his harness was attached to.  

“300 seconds  _is_ five minutes,  you idiot! I thought you were supposed to have gone to college?!” she sighed dramatically. “I knew you were trouble.”  

“Yes, well I’m not exactly thrilled to have you as a handler either!  And it was Cambridge  University, darling. A double first in Classics. ” He detached the rope and ran lightly to the bookcase where the book of the Sermons of Solomon should be housed. 

“What? They don’t teach basic math at your fancy school? Oh, nevermind! I’m not arguing your intellectual deficiencies with you in the middle of a mission! Get on with it!”  

Tom grumbled to himself about having been saddled with this pushy, over compensating woman.  

“What was wrong with Olly?”  

“CODE NAMES ONLY!” She hissed. “And Sugar Pi was never your handler,” Treacle Tart continued. “He was and is your assistant!”  

Tom couldn’t see the book and  fear began to trickle into his consciousness. He felt a drop of sweat begin to make it’s way itching-ly down his neck.

During their tour of the Vatican yesterday, he and Taylor had left tiny electromagnetic pulse devices scattered around that Taylor had assured him were powerful enough to knock their security out. Obviously there were armed guards, but they had positioned most of the EMPs by the vaults, which literally held millions in precious metals and gems. It would take a while before anyone bothered to check a dusty old library that had its door locked from the outside.

“It’s not here!” A note of panic was entering Tom’s voice but he was as composed as he could be in his manner.  

“It’s there,” Treacle Tart insisted, rolling her eyes at the ineptness of her new charge. “Keep looking!” Harry, or Agent Peach Pi, had been far easier to work with, but her superiors had seen great potential in  Harry and  he was whisked away for the fast track program, making him her equal in terms of rank. She  refused to work with anyone of equal or greater rank because the final say must always be hers.  

She muted her headset.  Time to give the paparazzi who were booked into the rooms on either side of their suite an earful. She sighed quietly before she  cried out “Oh! Oh yes! Yes, Tom, right there! Yes!” She hated that everyone thought she and Tom were sleeping together, but it was a necessary cover. Right now he needed an alibi and faking loud sex with him was the best option to keep VEG agents from wondering where he’d been when the Vatican Library was robbed.  

Taylor looked to Agent Pecan Pi, who posed as one of her bodyguards but was in fact their MI Pi tech expert, although right now he was playing Space Invaders.  He should have been joining his voice to hers to lend some verisimilitude to Tom’s alibi.  

She slapped the back of Pecan’s head, then slammed her hand onto the desk, crying “Yes! Yes!”  

“O- o- oh, yes, yes,” he said, rather lacking in enthusiasm.  

Treacle Tart balled up her fist in a silent threat, glaring at him.  

“Oh, yes, Taylor, you’re so sexy, you light up my life and - ”  

She smacked him again and let out a long ‘I’m coming’ kind of scream.  

“Your British accent sucks,” she whispered once she was finished, then she reactivated the microphone.  

“Pumpkin, you have 60 seconds remaining; do you have the book?”  

“No! It isn’t here!” Tom sounded slightly panicked.

“Bottom shelf, on the left, red spine.” She sighed, knowing he really should have asked for that information. She hated working with new agents.  Really, they had to be led around by their dicks! 

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?!” he complained. “Got it!” Tom cried. 

He had less than a minute to go before the security kicked back in, so he ran for the rope in the middle of the room, stuffing the book down the back of his pants. He didn’t bother to clip the rope to the harness but grabbed it with one hand, winding it around his arm, then he hit the winch button in his belt with the other hand. He rose quickly and breathed a sigh of relief  as his favorite body parts rose well above the laser field .  

With security buzzing around he’d have to be a bit more circumspect on his way out, but the hardest part was over.  It wasn't yet dark so he put his sunglasses on and settled his ballcap on his head; it wouldn’t do to be recognised here, when he was supposed to be back at the hotel, shagging Agent Tart, uh shagging Taylor silly.  

***

**PRESENT**

Clearly Tom had spoken too soon and the hard part would be escaping from newspaper-goon  and his recently arrived friend, cauliflower ear -goon.  

“Penne for your thoughts?” the journalist said, and Tom realised he’d been thinking rather too hard.  

“Sorry, darling, pease forgive me.” He flashed her his best flirtatious smile and she laughed far harder than his pun warranted.  

Just then he saw Sugar Pi wander into the square, coming up behind cauliflower ear. A commotion drew his attention to the other goon, and the waitress who had just spilled a hot coffee on him.  

She was apologising profusely and when he looked back to Olly, cauliflower ear-goon was swaying on his feet, as though drugged (or worse).  

“Forgive me, darling, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather,” Tom said to the journalist, knowing it was now or never. He got his wallet out and threw some money down on the table. “Can we reschedule?” 

“Uh, let me see you back to your hotel, Mr Hiddleston.”  

“No, really, it’s fine.”  

“I insist, I can’t leave you alone and unwell in an unfamiliar city.” She got to her feet and rummaged in her handbag. “I’ll hail us a cab.”  

“No really ... ”  

Tom saw the flash of a gun barrel through the opening of her bag.  

“Hush, Agent Pumpkin Pi,” she murmured quietly and dropped the flirtatious attitude. “I insist.” 

Tom sighed; Treacle Tart was going to kill him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

“Darling, there’s no need to be hasty...” Tom looked around uneasily at the heavily populated trattoria and passersby on the busy street, scoping possible escape routes, none of which he could utilise because of the firepower presently threatening his person. 

He couldn’t see Olly anywhere, which could only mean that he was unavoidably disposing an inconvenient body. It simply wouldn’t do to leave one’s work product lying around on the busy streets of Rome, after all, someone might notice. 

Acquiescing to necessity, he mentally girded his loins and placed a gentlemanly hand on the agent’s lower back to guide her from the cafe, noting the little shiver that she could not suppress at his light touch. He hid a smile as he leaned close to his victim, er, captor. 

“There’s no need for all that hardware, darling, the charms of your... software is surely sufficient to lure any man to your bidding…” he purred into her ear, with an obviously admiring glance down the agent’s cleavage. She noticed the direction of his gaze as intended, and turned cherry red, clearing her throat.  

“Hey, You! My eyes are up here!” 

“Oh I know, darling,” he kept his eyes on her breasts, watching her nipples harden into eager, yearning points under his gaze. “And your eyes are beautiful, but these…” He brushed a discrete knuckle under the swell of her breast, “these don’t lie.” 

He watched, with interest as her chest flushed and goose pimples spread across the tops of her meager breasts where they showed over her low cut white gauze blouse. In truth he found the blouse far more fetching than what lay beneath, but he wasn't a world class actor for nothing.

He raised a hand and whistled sharply for a cab and when one stopped obediently in front of them, he opened the door and ushered her in. She gave the taxi driver an address, presumably of somewhere private where she and those horrible VEG people could torture Tom for his Aunt Fanny’s lemon curd recipe.  

Aunt Fanny is the code name of the UK Government, but trust me when I say, you don’t want to know what their Lemon Curd recipe is.  

He moved across the seat toward her as the taxi careened into the hectic Roman traffic, and she ‘accidentally’ fell against him, her arms landing around his neck. 

“God... you smell soooo gooood…” She buried her face in his neck. She was in his grasp now…

‘I really must remember to thank Agent Quiche for the potent pheromone mixture he’d added to my cologne,’ he thought. He hadn’t believed it when he’d been told that his pheromones could incite such lust in people that they would override their instincts, but here was the proof.  

‘I’m irresistible! Science says so!’ He smirked.

Since he was confined to the lab, poor old Quiche didn’t get a proper Pi code name. Everyone was supposed to call him Alan but they called him Quiche so that he felt like part of the team.  

Now Tom tipped the Agent’s chin up and traced her dry, chapped lips with his own, hiding his distaste and reminding himself that he was kissing this woman in the service of Queen and country. To his relief she began to soften and blossom under his ministrations, moaning softly and evidently enjoying his attentions.

He slid his hands into her brittle, dry, bleached hair and couldn’t hold back the small sound of dismay that escaped him. Fortunately the agent took it as enjoyment. Her body surged up against him, and he firmed my chest, pushing back against her, letting her know exactly who was in charge here. 

He contained his triumphant grin when she suddenly went pliable in his arms. Parting her lips with his own, he waited for her to deepen the kiss. Her mouth tasted of unhappiness and sorrow.

He pulled away from her, panting against her forehead, the victim of an acute attack of conscience. This woman could be so much more, if she ever allowed herself to taste happiness. Instead she was wasting her life and others in the pursuit of denial and meanness. 

“I’m sorry…” he breathed against her, and waited for her to follow his manipulations. 

“Please...just kiss me again, Tom!” she moaned as she pressed herself against him body. 

Heaven help him, he actually felt sympathy for the woman. She’d obviously never had a moment of pure enjoyment in her life. He briefly wondered if it was appropriate to attempt to give her one moment of bliss before he had to leave her. No doubt Agent Tart would disagree. Probably quite violently. 

He knew and could sympathise with how humiliated she would feel once she realised she had been played, but Tom never could resist a challenge. Besides, technically he was her captive and it was his duty to do everything in his power to escape, even using dirty tricks.

He pulled away slightly, his hands cupping her head, thumbs framing her face, and searched her eyes. They were glazed, the medium brown of no particular shade, but the unhappiness that perpetually resided there had faded for the moment. 

Making up his mind, he dove to her lips, dragging her lips open with his own, licking into her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and scraping the tender inside of it as he pulled slowly away. Her little helpless noises of enjoyment escalated as he pulled her fully onto his lap. His slid his hand down her body, thumbing her nipple on the way, grasping her hip as she moaned and groaned and whimpered, writhing on his lap. 

She was putty in his very skillful hands. Now it was time to do some interrogating of his own.  

“What’s your code name?” He asked in between kissing her neck. When she didn’t answer he stopped.  

“Agent Beetroot,” she said as a breathy sigh and as a reward, he resumed kissing her neck.  

“What do you want the book for?” he murmured, slipping a hand up under her skirt and stroking her thigh.

“There’s a - there’s- there’s a -” she stuttered.

He dialled his ministrations back slightly since he was clearly making her incoherent.  

“There’s a recipe in there.”  

“Recipe?” That wasn’t why we thought they wanted it.  

“God gave Solomon the recipe for happiness, which he made into pudding.”  

Tom licked his lips.  

“And why does VEG want this recipe for happiness?” They weren’t exactly known for their desire to bring sweetness and light to the human race.  

“To sell it, silly,” she giggled like a schoolgirl as his hand rose higher up her thigh.  

The penny dropped. They would withhold something which all mankind had a right to, selling it only to those willing to pay a small fortune. VEG could fund itself in perpetuity.  

How very diabolical.  

It was time to put an end to his encounter with Agent Beetroot (an apt name considering how easily she blushed.)  

Deepening the kiss at the same time as he tightened his hold in her hair, he set his hand to caressing and stroking her through her clothing, gently taking her to her release. She went rigid in his arms, her lungs stilled, and her eyes rolled up, her lashes fluttering. He swallowed her cry, the escaping sound not even enough to draw the driver’s attention to his rearview mirror. 

Then she collapsed limply against him, utterly wrung out.

Carefully Tom removed his hands from her, kissed her forehead, and laid her gently down on the seat where she lolled bonelessly. Stroking her hair soothingly with one hand as she lay in her post orgasmic bliss, He fished around with his free hand and drew out a 100 euro note. 

At the next stoplight he reached through the partition and dropped the note next to the driver. 

“Buon Giorno.” he said to the man. “ Per favore, portarla alla sua destinazione. ( Please take the lady to her destination.) Mille grazie.”  He stepped out of the taxi and gently closed the door just as the traffic light turned green. 

The driver smiled a gold toothed smile and waved as he sped off with the agent from VEG.

He drew a deep breath, pausing to shrug into his suit jacket, and to shoot his cuffs, taking a quick covert glance around the street for obstacles or interested observers. Other than a little dog lifting a leg on a lamppost, there were no eyes turned his way. 

He smiled to himself, thinking that he might be new, but he was getting pretty good at this spy thing. At this rate, he’d be their top super spy in absolutely no time! Then Agent Treacle Tart would have to give him the respect he deserved.  

Three steps down the small side street he had cause to revise his opinion as a clatter above drew his attention and he looked up just in time to receive a face full of dirty water flying down from an upper terrace, recompense for this afternoon’s dirty work in the name of Queen, Country, and Pudding. 

Spluttering and wiping his face, he looked down at his ruined Armani suit. Oh well, he thought, he’d never really liked this one much anyway. Besides, he had bigger problems, like finding the location of the safe house and getting off the street before more VEG agents found him. 

“Signore, quello che è successo?” a woman asked him what had happened as she stepped onto her porch. “Si guarda come un topo annegato!” 

She laughed and Tom smiled, but no one really wants to hear that they looked like a drowned rat. 

“You English?” she asked with a thick accent. 

“Si Signora, sono inglese.” 

“Come, come,” she gestured for him to follow her inside. “We get you clean and dry.” 

Her house seemed like as good a place as any to hide out, and she was very pretty , with her long lustrous dark hair, her sloe black eyes, and her lush curves on a tiny 5 foot frame, so with one last look up and down the street, he followed her inside. 

*** 

“Goddammit! Where the hell is he?” Taylor demanded, pacing the length of the hotel room, wearing a hole in the carpet with her manolo blaniks. 

Tom’s tracker had gone dark five minutes before, so the agents following had converged on the place he was last seen.

“Still no sign.” Agent Pecan Pi was searching frantically through the cctv camera feeds that he had hacked into, but the precise interchange where Tom had got out of the cab wasn’t covered by a camera. Pecan was swearing under his breath as he searched and searched and came up blank. 

“Do I have to do everything myself?!” Taylor groaned. She put her earpiece in and yanked her yellow coat on, fluffing her hair out of its collar, while she spoke. 

“Okay, don’t lose that cab, let me know the minute it gets to its destination, then I want the driver debriefed!” 

“Should we bring Agent Beetroot in?” 

“No, just keep watching her. With any luck she’ll lead us to their base in Rome. If she’s as incompetent as she seems, we might be able to use directional mics to listen in.” 

“Understood.”

Taylor turned her earpiece on. “Agent Treacle Tart testing, testing. Can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear,” Pecan Pi answered. “Good luck.” 

She crammed a hat on her head and tucked her hair into it as she headed out, pulling on her dark sunglasses, and swearing softly to herself.

Taylor arrived at the intersection and squeezed her tiny Smart Car into an equally tiny space, but she didn’t get out. Her hat and sunglasses might delay being recognised, but even on a quiet street like this, someone might recognise her, so she watched and waited from behind tinted windows. 

“Where the hell are you, you insufferable dolt! ” she muttered.

She had waited perhaps 10 minutes when she saw a couple emerging from one of the small houses, lips locked with a beautiful woman, although he seemed to be reluctantly trying to push her away.

“God damn it!” Taylor cried, slipping her dark glasses on and getting out of the car. 

“Un'altra volta!” (one more!) she heard the woman plead, gripping his lapels and trying to pull him back into the apartment. “Just one more!”  

“I’d love to, but I must get back to work, tesoro mia”  

She pulled his head down and kissed him again.  

“I’ll shun black marrows!” he managed to say through the kiss, but it was very muffled and in hindsight, Taylor admitted he might have said, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”  

“You low down, dirty, sneaky cheater!” Taylor called, hands on her hips as both Tom and the strange woman turned to her. For some reason, Tom’s hair was damp and his suit was a far cheaper, off the rack sort, when he always wore designer. 

The woman Tom stood with slapped him and yelled something at him in Italian then went back inside, slamming the door after herself. Taylor didn’t try very hard to hide her glee. 

Tom blinked after the woman, swallowed, and then offered Taylor a weak smile.

“Thank god you’re here! I was worried I would never get away from her!” 

Taylor just spun around on her heel and walked back to the car, leaving Tom to catch up with her. 

With some difficulty Tom squeezed his tall frame into the tiny car and buckled up. 

“Your timing is impeccable, darling.” 

Taylor opened a window and tried not to breathe too deeply but even without his pheromone laden scent filling the small car, and her senses, he was still ridiculously attractive.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be professional, you know!”  she said.

“But I am professional, darling!” 

“Professionals don’t stop in strangers houses for a quickie!” Taylor huffed in exasperation, not jealousy. Definitely NOT jealousy! “She could have been a VEG agent for all you knew!” 

“But she wasn’t, and I was doused in dirty water, and I needed somewhere to hide for a while!”  Tom defended.

“You’ve got a little something…” Taylor pulled is sun visor down so he could see the mirror, and the lipstick smeared all around his lips. 

“Ah,” he grimaced. “In my defence, it’s not my fault, she cornered me.” He was searching the pockets of the suit for a handkerchief. 

“And you couldn’t fight off a 90 pound, 5 foot nothing woman?” 

“I was trying, but I didn’t want to be rude!” 

Taylor narrowed her eyes and snorted derisively at him, but she didn’t like seeing the lipstick, so she passed him a tissue. 

“Thank you, darling.” 

“I AM NOT YOUR DARLING!” she snapped. “I know everyone loves you and I know you have these freaky pheromones, and I know MI Pi needs your help, but most of us worked our way up the hard way while you were handed everything on a platter and I am not interested in warming the bed of some freeloading lothario!!” 

Tom cleared his throat.  It's not like I offered, he thought sullenly. He went stiffly formal.

“My apologies, Agent Treacle Tart, ‘darling’ is simply a term of endearment that I use with everyone, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.” 

Taylor wanted to scream! Why did he have to be so fucking perfect?? Why couldn’t he have a few flaws so that every time she was in the same room with him she wasn’t thinking of tearing his clothes off? Insufferable jerk! 

With driving that was reckless even compared to Italian drivers, she made it to the hotel in record time and slid the car to a stop outside. She got out and immediately breathed deeply to clear the scent of Tom’s cologne from her senses. 

She felt better already,  and tapped her ear comm. 

“Base, this is Treacle Tart. The package is safe, repeat, the package is safe and at the hotel.” 

‘Roger Treacle Tart, the Pi makers will be thrilled to hear that.’ 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The pair of them finally trailed into their hotel suite in sullen silence. 

Tom did not understand what Agent Tart's problem was. He had, after all, been given this mission because of his intelligence, quick wit, and his ability to escape from sticky situations. It was hardly his fault that some of those situations were sticky with honey traps! He licked his lips in a fond remembrance of 'Bellissima', as he would always think of her, with her flashing black eyes and hot kisses... He abandoned that thought as he felt a stirring behind his zipper. She had certainly managed to clear his palate of the taste of that sad, brittle Agent Beetroot!  

Tom frowned and rubbed the cheek where she had slapped him. He rather regretted having to leave her that way. He heaved a sigh as he watched Taylor start to shrug out of her coat and strode over to help her remove it, hanging the lovely, soft coat carefully in the closet with a lingering caress. Taylor watched him with beady eyes, as if worried he might damage her precious garment.

"Well," she sniffed, "at least you have a proper appreciation for designer clothing!" She turned away to flop onto the sofa and kicked off her shoes, rubbing her toes where the narrow point of her shoes had pinched. 

"All right, Agent Pumpkin, perhaps, maybe, we could get back to the job? You know, the job we are here to do in the first place?" She snarked at him rather nastily, Tom thought.  "Darling –" he cut himself off quickly, "Agent Tart – " she cut him off this time.  

"Don't fucking call me that either! My name is Taylor!"  

"But you told me code names only!” he said in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. She rolled her eyes.  

"Are you simple? We have a cover! You can't go around calling me 'Agent' when we're supposed to be embroiled in a hot romance! And don't think I don't hear that smirk in your voice every time you called me Agent Tart! I may be American, but I'm not stupid! I know exactly what a 'tart' is to you Brits!  

Tom found himself surprised at her knowledge. In his experience the language spoken by Americans often bore little resemblance to English, and they seemed to revel in their ignorance. He started to blush at being caught out but restrained himself.  

"But you often call me 'Pumpkin' in public!" He pointed out reasonably.  

"Because it's an endearment, not because it's your agent name, you twit! Now, if you're done fucking half of Rome, can we get back to the job??"  

"I didn't fuck half of Rome, dammit! It was one woman! One!!" he roared, goaded beyond endurance by this infuriating woman.  

Taylor sat back against the sofa and smirked at him.  

“All right, one and a half!” he admitted, if you included Agent Beetroot. And he would prefer not to, thank you very much.

"Ha! I knew it! Well, IF you can keep it in your pants now, we've got to figure out how to get the book to headquarters. Thanks to your little nooner, we missed our original rendezvous and handover."  

That stopped him. Tom had the grace to look abashed, both by his outburst at her, and by the fact that she was right. He had ruined the take.  

"I'm sorry... Taylor. I didn't realize. I shouldn't have dallied." He rubbed his hands over his head, scrubbing at his scalp in irritation at himself.  Suddenly she smiled and patted his hand.  

"That's all right, Pumpkin, we'll figure something out." She grinned. "Nice use of double entendre by the way," she snickered and Tom grinned back.  There might be a sense of humour under there, after all.

"Okay, now - " she looked up as Agent Pecan entered the room from the tech lair he had set up in one of the suite's bedrooms.  

"Yes?”  

"I just heard back from headquarters. There will be a delay while a new escape route is planned. They want you to take the opportunity to build your public cover. You have reservations at Il Pagliaccio  in two hours. The paparazzi will be in attendance."  

Tom's face fell.  

"Paparazzi." He said glumly. Taylor smiled brightly at him, looking like the girl she was.  

"Oh come on, it will be fun!"  

"Fun?! With the paparazzi interrupting and swarming all over the place? I hardly think-"  

"That's right, you ridiculous man! Fun! You'll finally have a chance to play up to them, mess with their heads! It's not a real date, doofus! We are establishing a cover as lovebirds! This is your chance to completely fool them! Are you an actor or not?" She had the biggest grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief.  

Tom shook his head in wonderment. She actually enjoyed this game of cat and mouse with the infernal pests! Still, it was nice to see a genuine smile on her face and her enthusiasm drew Tom into the game.  

"Right, then!" He slapped his thighs, getting up from the sofa and extending a hand to help her up, which she took. “We'd better get moving. Will you have the shower first, or shall I?" he asked, mustering geniality. Tom and Taylor had been forced to share a bedroom and a bathroom since Pecan had the other in the suite all filled with his gadgets and spyware.  

"I'll shower first, if you don't mind." She decided, and went ahead of him. Tom enjoyed the view of her swinging hips while she wasn't looking.  

He sat catching up with his email while she showered, looking up in surprise when she emerged much more quickly than he'd expected. His mouth dropped open when she walked out wearing only a towel and wet hair, seeing her for the first time with all the cosmetics and artifice scrubbed away. He was stunned at her innocent, winsome beauty.  

She walked past him where he sat on the edge of the bed, his phone hanging limply in his hand. She smiled and pushed a finger under his chin, snapping his mouth closed.  

"We are not a codfish, Thomas!" she murmured as she walked past him to her suitcase. Tom shook himself out of his reverie and strode into the bathroom for his own shower, catching a glimpse of her in the mirror as she bent to pull lacy underthings from her case. He hastily turned his eyes away and firmly shut the door.  

This was not a real romance, he reminded himself. She was his boss. His handler. His superior officer. He was definitely not getting a hard on for his boss. Definitely. He found comfort and familiarity in thinking of her as his...his co star. Settling her status firmly in his mind, he stepped into the shower.  

***  

Tom had been looking forward to the restaurant. It had two Michelin stars and served a modern take on Italian classics. It was decorated along the same theme, with a modern twist on a traditional trattoria.  

Taylor had seemed to be in the mood to have fun too, and as her cool and professional exterior had begun to thaw,  he’d got a glimpse of the warm and funny woman under the all-business frost.  

That is, until he dropped her purse into a puddle and killed her cell phone, not to mention the water damage to a $3,000 purse, and that wasn’t even counting the enhancements Agent Quiche had added to the bag, as she sharply informed him. Of course, it was her own fault.  If she hadn’t been bending over to settle the strap in her shoe, his hand wouldn’t have fumbled the thing. He sighed.  Ok, not her fault.

And now she was well and truly pissed at him, and although she looked like a strong breeze might sweep her away, she was gripping his hand with enough strength to put Thor to shame. The real Thor. 

“I  _ am  _ sorry, Taylor,” he said, giving her his best smile and hoping it didn’t look like a grimace of pain.  

“Oh, you will be,” she smiled back sweetly and leaned in to kiss him.  

The kiss was… He couldn’t really describe it. Maybe it was like a Chorus of Angels singing? Or how heaven must feel?  

Regardless, she felt something too, as her grip on his hand loosened and when they parted, she looked rather shocked.  

They stared at each other a long moment.  

“Taylor...” he began, but she seemed to come to her senses and pulled away. She searched quickly for something to break the tension.  

“Come on, you must be starving after all that sex,” she winked and snickered like a schoolgirl.  

“It wasn’t that much sex ” he grumbled.  

She cut him off with another kiss, this time delivered with a sharp little nip to his lip.  

“We’re supposed to be in love,” she mumbled through the kiss, but it didn’t progress this time. Tom had the distinct impression that it might as well have been a stinging bite. Tom could play it that way. He smiled as she pulled away. 

“Oh, I’m absolutely famished, darling.” He pursed his lips and blew her a kiss. She turned away, tightening her grip on his hand and dragging him into the restaurant. They were seated by the window so the hidden paparazzi could photograph them.  

“Buonasera, Signore. Cosa ti va da bere?” their server asked, and Tom picked up the wine list. Taylor almost snatched it from him but decided to see if he was as snobby as he acted. God, are there any languages he doesn’t speak?  

“Red or white, darling?” he asked her.  

“Red, please.”  

“We’ll have a bottle of the 2010 Brunello,” he smiled at the waiter and returned the wine list, accepting a menu in its place.  

The wine came quickly and Tom tasted it, sniffing first then sipping it and swirling it around, then he surprised her and handed his glass to Taylor.  

She knew nothing about wines but she took a sip and declared, “That’s nice.”  

Tom nodded to the waiter who poured them each a glass, then asked if they were ready to order.

“Tra pochi minuti,” Tom charmed him.  

“Of course, sir.”  The waiter turned smartly and left them.

Rather than peruse the menu, Tom sipped his wine and closed his eyes to better enjoy the sensation. Drinking red wine in a lovely restaurant, in the company of a beautiful woman, in the city of Roma. Did it get much better than this?  

“So English, will you be all right with the rich food, or should I just ask for everything to be extra bland?”  

Okay, maybe there were a few things better than this...  

“I am sorry about your bag,” he said, giving her his dazzling smile, the one that never failed to melt a million hearts.  

“I loved that bag,” she smiled but he could see it was less than genuine. He hoped the photographers weren’t close enough to notice as well.  

“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you a dozen!”  

“Gucci doesn’t make that one any more.”  

“I’ll find you one on ebay or something!”  

“Sure, and it’ll be a genuine ‘Cucci’ original!”  

She was clearly intent on holding a grudge.  

“Give me your hand,” he said. 

“Why?”  

“Because we’re supposed to be in love.”  He didn’t say ‘brat’.

She didn’t oblige but when he reached across the table and took it, she didn’t pull away. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, holding her gaze and giving her his best puppy dog eyes. No one could resist the puppy dog eyes.  

“I really am sorry, love.”  

She resisted.  

"Oh not yet, you aren't!" She assured him. Her laugh was a bright tinkle. She leaned forward and slid her hand around his neck and scraped her nails over his scalp rather harder than strictly necessary. Tom's smile stayed firmly in place, but Taylor heard his indrawn hiss.  

He casually reached up to her elbow and drew his hand slowly up her arm to her hand, where he pried her nails out of his scalp. He clasped her hand quite firmly in his and held their joined hands tenderly to his chest. She leaned forward confidentially with a smile to whisper sweet nothings into his ear.  

"There is something else we need to talk about,  _ Pumpkin _ ." Tom could hear the sneer in her voice, but no one nearby would have had the least clue, he thought. "You need to quit dragging me around the city by my hand. It wouldn't kill you to slow down a bit!"  

Tom's face went a bit hectic and he barely avoided gritting his teeth in sudden fury. Really, this was getting to be beyond enough! He managed to turn his grimace into a laugh.  

"Darling, you're 5'10"! You're perfectly capable of keeping up with me, you simply choose not to!" Taylor could hear the suppressed snarl in his voice. His accusation made her blood boil. She felt her smile harden.  

"Well I can't, can I?! I have to wear those goddamn heels on those goddamn cobblestones all day!" 

"And that's another thing,  _ darling _ !" Tom quickly turned and scowled at the telephoto lenses across the street, pretending that he was annoyed at the paps, not Taylor. "Your footwear is entirely inappropriate for the terrain!" Her smile congealed and her eyes narrowed.  

"Oh, like I get a choice! My only choices in 'footwear' as you so snottily referred to them, are a choice between high and stupid - high! Do you think I  _ like  _ tripping and stumbling all over the goddamn city after you?"  

"Well, why didn't you say so darling? We'll just stop tomorrow and get you some proper walking shoes!" Tom leaned back with a nod and a genuine smile beginning to break over his face, pleased to have a real problem he could solve for her.  

"Oh for pity’s sake, Tom! I can't be seen in sensible walking shoes! Are you that much of an idiot?" Her voice was beginning to lose that bright tone and become brittle.  

"Well, why on earth not, darling?" He definitely lost control of his own voice for a moment as his question came out in a growl, his smile gone somewhat stiff. Tom carefully let go of her hand before his grip became too firm and reached for his wine, hiding his grimace at this woman's sheer incomprehensibility until his face was buried in his wine glass. He had to restrain himself from swallowing the lot.  Taylor stared at him in rising fury.  He set his glass down and reached for her hand again.

“I can't wear comfortable shoes!" she hissed, "I’m a girl being chased all over god’s creation by the freaking paparazzi! I'm ‘Taylor goddamn Swift’! I could break a goddamn leg, but I’d better by-god  do it in sexy shoes! Do you have any idea how much shit would fall on me, you, you DOUCHE NOZZLE!" she quietly snarled with a sweet smile on her face for the paparazzi.  

Tom's hand spasmed on hers, drawing her attention down to it with a brief wince. She quickly looked back up at his face and was shocked to see his lips twitch and his eyes widen as he tried to swallow a genuine snort of laughter. Taylor could see that it was a battle he was quickly losing.  

A small snicker escaped him. Taylor stared at Tom, choking as his amusement struck her own sense of the ridiculous, and the funny bone sitting right next to it. She snickered back, and the next moment they were each laughing uproariously, their heads thrown back, suddenly thoroughly enjoying each other's company.  

"Yeah, okay," she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, delicately batting her eyelashes on a folded edge of her napkin, still chuckling. "You're right. That was a little over the top."  

Tom was still trying to suppress the odd snicker, his eyes crinkled over his wine glass at her.  

"Got it all out of your system, then?" He asked with a devilish grin.  

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that."  She said with a shrug and a grin. Tom grinned back.  

"It's quite all right." He paused, his lips twitching again and his eyes dancing with mischief. 

"Darling."  

Her eyes narrowed and rolled, but she couldn't wipe the grin from her face.  

"Douche nozzle."  

Tom leaned forward and whispered in her ear, while running a finger along her jaw.  

"Darling, if you keep referring to me as a douche nozzle, I might begin to think that you are associating me with something you're meant to... insert." He paused, breathing beside her ear for a moment before drawing away. Taylor's eyes were laughing as he sat back, an eyebrow flirtatiously flying in a high arch.  

"Pun'kin, I know a Freudian slip when I –"  

Tom’s cell phone interrupted them. It was a number he didn’t recognise.  

“Hello?”  

“IS AGENT TREACLE TART WITH YOU?” a rather loud voice demanded.  

“Uh, who is this?”  

“THIS IS YORKSHIRE PUDDING, YOU IDIOT, NOW IS TREACLE TART WITH YOU?”  

“Uh, yes.”  

“ WHY ISN’T SHE ANSWERING HER PHONE?”  

“Her phone was, uh, damaged… Sir.”  

“DAMAGED? HOW?”  

“It, uh, it went for a swim, Sir.”  

“A SWIM?? JESUS CHRIST! JUST PUT HER ON THE PHONE!”  

He handed Taylor the phone and listened to her side of the conversation.  

“Sir? … What extraction point, Sir? … When? … How long? … Yes, Sir … No, Sir … Yes, Sir … Right away, Sir.” She hung up.  

“What?” Tom asked.  

“Pecan lied, we were supposed to be extracted ten minutes ago.”  

“Why on earth would he do that?” Tom asked in all innocence.  

“I don’t know for sure, but we need to get back to the hotel and check the safe.”  

“ Crap. You think he took the Solomon’s Sermons book?”  

“I’d bet  _ your  _ ass he did,” she got up from the table and Tom left some money to cover their wine.

“I was really looking forward to the almond slice with peach in beer,” Tom lamented.  

“I’ll buy you a gelato,” Taylor rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “Now come on!” 

*** 

Taylor went straight to her makeup case, which was about as big as a mid­-sized tool box and when opened, individual trays spread the contents out, and larger items sat at the bottom. She opened it and placed her finger on an ugly, iridescent eyeshadow, which suddenly glowed as it scanned her print, then a hidden drawer in the base clicked open.  

“It’s gone,” she sighed. “Damn it!” she hit the dressing table with the palm of her hand. “Okay, it’s okay,” she muttered. “I can fix this, I­...”  

She suddenly ran into the other bedroom, the one where Pecan had set up their equipment, and she logged into a computer.  

Tom followed in her wake, fascinated by everything she was doing but unwilling to disturb her and ask questions.  

“Yes!” she hissed, then held her hand out without looking away from the screen. “Give me your phone.”  

He placed it in her hand and watched the screen, which appeared to be some sort of tracking program.  

Taylor played around with his phone for a few minutes and when she handed it back, the map from her computer screen was now on his phone, with a red dot and a blue dot indicating the locations of something.  

“Let’s go!”  

She practically ran from the hotel room, snatching up a large Louis Vuitton bag as she went, and Tom found himself jogging to keep up with her. He knew she’d been exaggerating when she said she couldn’t keep up with his long legs!  He noted, however, that she had somehow changed into slightly lower heels.

“Is this the book?” he asked, pointing at the blue dot on his screen as they flew down the corridor.  

“No, that’s us.” She pointed at the red dot, “That’s Pecan Pi.”

“You have a tracker on him?”  

“Of course I do!”  

They reached the stairs and took them two at a time, running through the lobby.  

“That was good luck.”  

“Or great planning by an experienced agent who knows her shit!” She growled at him  

Taylor had asked for her Smart Car to be kept ready when they came in, so a valet was waiting with her keys. She tipped him and jumped into the car.  

“Do you have a tracker on me?” Tom asked curiously as he folded himself into the miniscule car.  

“Uh huh,” she answered absently, her wheels spinning on the gravel for a moment before they caught and the car took off. “Which way?” she asked.  Tom looked down at the phone. “Turn right, here.”  

She did as he said.  

“So where is my tracker?” Tom asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortably observed.  

“Left heel,” she replied. “Right pant leg seam, belt buckle, and under your collar.”  

Tom was floored and reached up to feel his collar.  

“Are you keeping an eye on the phone?” she demanded, weaving in and out of traffic as they drove at lightning speed, trying to catch up with their target.  

“Oh, uh,” he looked at the screen. They should have turned left about four junctions back. “Take the next left.”  

She pulled into the correct lane, cutting someone up in the process so they sat on their horn as Taylor slammed on the breaks to wait at the lights.  

“You could slow down a little,” Tom said, having braced his arm against the dashboard. “He isn’t moving very fast.”  

“That’s Rome traffic for you! I have to go as fast as I can because any moment now, we’re going to get stuck in the same slow crawl.”  

Thanks to Taylor’s insane driving skills and illegal moves, they got to within three blocks of Pecan before traffic slowed to a crawl. Even her tiny car’s ability to squeeze into the smallest of gap couldn’t help them now, the traffic was literally bumper to bumper.  

“Isn’t rush hour over yet?” Tom demanded.  

“This is central Rome, it has no rush hour, things just get even slower sometimes.”  

Tom looked at the map, using the distance key to try and determine how far away the red dot was. 

He estimated it was about 500 to 600 meters.  

“What kind of car is Pecan driving?”  

“The only other car we have is the 4x4 we rented so if we’re in this toy car­-”  

“He must be in the tank,” Tom concluded. “Okay, I’m going to try something.”  

He got out of the car and began to run.  

“Tom?” Taylor called. “TOM!” she considered getting out and chasing after him, but she was already being beeped for not moving six inches ahead. 

_ ‘Little shit,’ _ she thought.  _ ‘I am  _ so _ going to kick his scrawny British ass when I catch up to him.’  _

***  

Tom ran along the pavement, checking his phone and slowing when he approached the red dot. 

There were four lanes of traffic, plus two rows of parked cars that were virtually indistinguishable from the traffic but luckily for him, few people seemed to be driving 4x4s and it didn’t take him long to spot the black one Taylor had rented for her entourage when they arrived as part of her cover.  Now he just needed to decide how he was going to do this. He could walk up, smash a window, hit Pecan, grab the book and run, but that was messy, and Pecan might run after him.  

He didn’t have a gun but he could bluff.  

He sidled up to the car and tried the rear door, behind the driver’s seat and to his immense surprise, it opened.  

Pecan heard, of course, but he could do nothing to stop Tom climbing in.  

“There is a .22 aimed at your spine,” he said in his best  don’t  fuck with me bad guy voice, meeting Pecan’s eyes in the mirror. The other man looked stunned. 

“Hand over the book and you’ll retain the ability to walk.”  

“How did you find me?”  

“I have ways,” he smiled coldly. “Now give me the book. I won’t ask again.”  

Pecan was almost hyperventilating and didn’t reply until Tom cracked one of his joints, Hoping Pecan would think it was a safety being turned off. He was the tech guy after all, not a gun expert or a real bodyguard.  

“All right, all right! It’s in the glove box.”  

“Reach over and get it for me,” Tom instructed.  

Pecan did as he was told and passed the book, which was now wrapped up in fancy paper to look like a present, to Tom.  

He tore a corner of the wrapping, just to be sure it was the right book and not a substitution, but it was the original.  

“Thank you.” Tom said politely.  He got out and jogged all the way back to Taylor, who had hardly moved twenty feet.  

“You got it??” she sounded shocked.  

“I got it.” He grinned at her. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you can get us out of this traffic, is there?”  

“Sure is,” Taylor smirked, performing an illegal U turn into the oncoming traffic that almost caused a crash and did cause a cacophony of horns to start singing. Heading out of the city centre though, it didn’t take long for the roads to clear.  

“Where are we going?” Tom asked.  

“Our extraction point is Urbe Airport, there’s an MI Pi helicopter waiting to take us into France. We’ll have to refuel, probably in Lyon and somewhere in Northern France, then we can just hop over the channel and land in Heathrow.”  

“Wouldn't it make more sense to take a direct flight?” 

“Ordinarily maybe but with VEG onto us, we can’t afford to be spotted right now.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Wait, do you have our passports?”  

“The pilot will have everything we need,” she assured him. Or at least very good replicas of their passports if not the real thing.  


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Tom and Taylor were ushered through the airport on a golf buggy and driven straight to their helicopter. The pilot who greeted them was a tall black man with a head full of perfect, tiny dreadlocks, each about two inches in length, and he was wearing more makeup than Taylor.  

“Great to meecha, Miss Swift! I’m such a fan!” He turned to Tom. “And a fan of yours, of course! So happy to meecha, Mr. Hiddleston!” he gushed as he shook both their hands. He leaned toward Taylor confidingly. “Oh honey, he’s just adorable in person, isn’t he? Good for you girl!” Taylor and he both turned to regard Tom admiringly, while Tom went a little pink and laughed his little embarrassed eheheh.  

“Oh, he’s alright, I guess.” Taylor quipped. The Agent snickered, then straightened.  

“Well, we’d better keep our schedule. Step right this way, folks, step right up here,” he said as he ushered them into the rear of the helicopter, a hand on Taylor’s elbow. “You’re in for a wonderful trip, just fabulous! This helicopter is the very latest thing in fast transport, it’s brand new from the labs. It will get us all the way to Lyon in just a couple of hours. Wait ‘til I kick the turbo on, it’s like the warp drive on the Starship Enterprise!”  

He kept his spiel up until he was in the front and the doors were all closed.  

“Sorry about all that chatter,” he said apologetically. “I get a little nervous when I go undercover, it makes me ramble.”  

“I used to be the same,” Taylor assured him, then she turned to Tom. “What about you, Pumpkin?” she teased playfully.  

“Please don’t call me that,” he winced and begged.  

“Hey, it could be worse, man,” the pilot said, flipping various dials and switches. “You could be a gay man with the codename Mince Pi.”  

Tom spluttered. “ That’s… Isn’t that prejudiced or something?”  

“Not when it’s your boyfriend assigning code names,” he turned to look at Tom and grinned. “Things are about to get noisy, so you might want to put your headsets on. Channel one to talk to everyone, channel two to talk among yourselves.”  

Mince busied himself with his pre­flight checks, flipping switches and muttering to the air traffic control tower.  

Taylor saw Tom’s face pale very slightly, and his adam’s apple bobbed quickly up and down as he watched the pilot’s preparations. She marvelled at how well he maintained his professional face, his expression didn’t change at all. If you didn’t know where to look for those tell-­tale micro expressions, you’d never see that it was a calm cover over nerves.  

Taylor sat back abruptly, realising with a start that she was beginning to know these things about him. She took a couple of cleansing deep breaths and looked back at him. 

Tom was busying himself insuring that she was properly buckled into her seat. She let him, despite the fact that she had flown many times in a helicopter and knew perfectly well how to operate a seatbelt, as he seemed to need the distraction. He checked his own belt, then re­checked hers.  

Tom was so tightly focused on his task that he hadn’t uttered a word. His actions were perfectly smooth, but Taylor was learning to see the slight tightness at the corner of his easy smile, the way his hand kept returning to pinch and stroke his neck despite his relaxed pose, the slightly deeper breaths that betrayed his nervousness.  

“Tom,” she asked gently, “have you ridden in a helicopter before?”  

“Of course!” his reassuring smile was the slightest bit strained.  

“But you didn’t like it much, did you?” she asked shrewdly. 

“Well, no.  Not really.”  he ducked his head a little sheepishly.  

Taylor nodded, pulling her headset on as the helicopter’s engines growled loudly to life. She helped 

Tom to put on his headset, adjusting his mic, testing both channels as the rotor blades began to spin.  

As the craft left the ground,  Taylor put her hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. Tom felt an immediate sense of relief, telling himself that it wasn’t the comforting feel of her hand, it was his relief at leaving Rome. Rome had begun to get a little claustrophobic, and he was sure that now they were on their way out of there it would be plain sailing all the way home.  

“The Colosseum,” Tom  breathed reverently , as he looked out of his window at the view below. To his surprise, Taylor quickly leaned over so she could see.  

“Oh, That is so cool!” she exclaimed, her eyes devouring the ancient site every bit as avidly as his. Tom found his eyes closing on a swiftly indrawn breath at her eager interest. He was coming to realise that Taylor was more than an efficient, highly trained and highly abrasive agent, she was bright, and funny, and curious. The occasional sparkle that she allowed to show through her eyes invariably made his breath come faster. Really, she had the loveliest, most expressive eyes...  

Tom turned his head to catch her eye and they shared an intimate and oddly shy smile. It was one more of those small connections that the two of them were beginning to make.

They both turned to the window again before things could become awkward, and Tom risked putting an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t shrug him off.  

They switched seats a few times, leaning over each other to see the sights, looking out of her window too. The scenery was beautiful and although they didn’t talk much, they shared many more smiles, and Taylor actually took his hand! She had initiated contact! Voluntarily! Of her own volition!  

Yes, he was a little shocked by that fact, especially since he hadn’t put any of that fancy pheromone­-laden cologne on after his shower, but he wasn’t about to argue with this development. He wasn’t usually into blondes but he was stunned to realise that Taylor was Hot with a capital oh­-my-­god.  

Taylor turned from exclaiming over the view with a smile and impulsively kissed his cheek, surprising even herself.  She searched his face to find his attention riveted to her lips.  

She let her eyes fall to his mouth, her eyes tracing over it, wondering how his lips would feel on hers. How he would taste, what his reaction would be if she nipped that bottom lip.  

Would he moan? Could she make him moan? Taylor gave her head a tiny regretful shake, reminding herself that they were professionals and began to sit back.  

Tom quickly grasped her chin as she started to move away, and held her steady as his lips brushed hers experimentally.  

She had no opportunity to discover Tom’s reaction to having his bottom lip bitten, but she had plenty of opportunity to learn that she loves it when he drags his teeth over the tender inside of her lower lip and suckles.  

Taylor skimmed her hand along down Tom’s neck and chest, coming to rest with her hand on his pectoral, her palm resting over his nipple. Her hand clenched just a bit into his hard chest muscle at the feel of the hard little point digging into her palm, her fingernails scratching just lightly against the fabric of his shirt, and the heel of her hand grinding onto his nipple, making him groan into her mouth.  

The trip was faster than he expected and as they came in to land in Lyons , Agent Mince Pi’s voice came over their headsets.  

“It will take about an hour to refuel and do my checks, so you should head into the airport and maybe grab a snack, freshen up, do the girl thing, girl.”  

Tom leaned back and stared dazedly at Taylor as she straightened away from him. Her hand came up and wiped a smear of lipstick off Tom’s mouth as she made a quick little disappointed face at Tom and turned to Mince.  

“Can we get you anything, honey?” Taylor asked, pulling a woollen beanie over her distinctive blonde hair.  

“Thanks, but I’m covered.”  

When they landed Taylor slung her go­-bag with the book over her shoulder. Once the blades slowed, she opened the door next to her.  

“See you in an hour,” she told Mince with a wave and a smile, hopping down onto the tarmac and stepping out of Tom’s way as he jumped down. They crouched and ran hand in hand under the slowing blades to the terminal.  

The airport was small but it did have a cafeteria restaurant where they could grab a quick snack.

“You did well today,” Taylor complimented him. “If you keep this up, you’ll be a Tart in no time.”  

“I’d rather be a Pudding and out rank you,” he teased.  

Taylor gasped in mock outrage. “Why not go all the way to the top and become the Fruitcake?”  

Tom  looked startled. “Darling, my pedigree isn’t  _quite_ that lofty. It’s not exactly an elected office, is it?” 

“It would be a good code name for you, though,” she teased, and while Tom tried to look offended, he couldn’t help smiling at her.  

Tom stopped in the tiny gift shop and purchased 3 postcards of the colosseum as seen from the air, much as they had seen it earlier. He quickly filled one in with his mother’s address and scribbled out his usual coded message to his Mum.  

“The weather is perfect! Wish you were here! Love you, Mum. ­Tom” He added his usual quick sketch of a heart with both curves on the same side. The result looked like a silhouette of Loki’s horns. It was a running joke between himself and his mum. It let her know that he was happy and well.  He’d see her before the card arrived, but she’d enjoy receiving it any way.  

While he was doing that, Taylor was purchasing a couple of paninis and bottles of water for their meal in the cafeteria, plus a bar of chocolate and small bag of nuts for later. She also picked up a couple of those tiny airline sized bottles of whiskey.  Bourbon for herself, and Scotch for Tom. You never know.  

Taylor slipped the snacks and the liquor into a side pocket of the capacious Louis Vuitton shoulder bag that was her Agent’s go­-bag. She had snatched it up on their run out of the hotel. It carried all her essentials, her electronics, a burner phone, cash, a small knife (that she knew how to use), clean knickers, a toothbrush, her favorite crimson lipstick, a syringe with a single prepared dose of a fast ­acting paralytic in a hidden compartment, and now the all important book too.  

Tom took her hand and led her to a table near the large window overlooking the small planes littering the tarmac, pulling out her chair for her as she set the food on the table. He sat and accepted the quite unexpectedly delicious panini from her, unwrapping and taking a voracious bite.  

He reached over and opened Taylor’s water bottle for her and then his own, tipping his bottle toward her, he said “Cheers!” and swallowed a thirsty mouthful.  

Taylor laughed around her mouthful of panini, her face making an ‘oops!’ expression as she quickly caught the focaccia crumb that her laugh had dislodged  

Tom found himself laughing at her cute faux­ pas, and reached over to wipe another crumb off her lip with his thumb.  

Taylor’s tongue slipped out fast to brush against his thumb, and they both froze, staring at each other.  

When Tom finished his panini he wiped his hands on the cheap paper napkin.  

“Not exactly Il Pagliaccio but I have to admit, that was good,” he smiled.  

“Yeah, there’s nothing quite so satisfying as food when you’re hungry,” she agreed.  

“Or sleep when you’re exhausted.”  

“Or a pee when you’re bursting.”Tom  looked at her, wondering if she was serious, then they both burst out laughing.  

Tom found himself reaching across the small table and taking her hand and when she didn’t object, he stood up and leaned over the table, his expression warm and hungry.  

Taylor closed her eyes in anticipation, but the expected kiss never came. When she opened her eyes, Tom seemed frozen about eight inches away, his gaze fixed out of the window and his expression grim. 

“What?  

“I thought I saw a flash in the tree line.”  

“Like a camera flash?”  

“More like the sun glinting off a camera lens.” It was getting late but the days were long and the sun was only just setting low across the field to the west.  

“If the paps found us, VEG won’t be far behind,” Taylor sighed. She’d been looking forward to the kiss and maybe more. “Let’s go wash up and head back to the plane.”  

Tom followed her, checking his watch. They had easily twenty minutes until they needed to be back at the helicopter and Tom had an idea.  

“You know,” he said, leaning beside the door to the disabled toilet, “No cameras can see is in here,” he pointed to the door.  

Taylor stood in front of the door to the ladies and looked from Tom down the corridor, worried about being caught. But there were no people or windows in the hallway.  

“Live a little,” Tom urged with a wink, going into the large stall and leaving the door open for her.  

After a brief hesitation, Taylor ran the five paces to the door and quickly locked it behind her. The surge of adrenalin made her aggressive and when she turned around, she literally pounced on Tom, wrapping her legs around his waist as he staggered back a few paces.  

Her lips claimed his in a heated kiss and she could feel his cock pressing on her mound. God, something about this was just so hot, she was dripping already.  Was she really going to let this man­whore fuck her in a bathroom?  

“Condom?” she gasped as she stopped kissing him for long enough to ask. That would be a deal breaker.  

“Got it covered,” he  murmured. She snickered.  

One of his hands massaged her ass and the other scratched her back through her clothes. His lips trailed kisses over her neck and she was done for.  

Holy shit, she was going to do him! In a public bathroom! And she was going to like it! She whined as she wriggled against him in anticipation.  

This was so not like her, but if­-  

The blast was large enough to shatter the small frosted glass window in the cubicle, the boom and crash making both Tom and Taylor jump and freeze  for a second, then they pulled away just enough to look at each other with wide eyes.  

They both knew that it was but neither wanted to say it out loud.  

In unison, they looked towards the window and since he was still holding her, Tom lifted her up higher so she could see out of the igh window.  

“Closer,” she whispered and Tom moved her nearer the broken window. Glass littered the floor and crunched under his shoes as he walked. It also littered the windowsill, so Taylor braced herself with a hand on the wall.  

“What do you see?” he asked.

“It’s the helicopter,” she confirmed their fears, her voice shaking just a little.  

“Agent Mince Pi?”  

“I can’t see him. I can’t see much of anything, it’s a total mess out there,  flaming debris everywhere, the landing pad is almost covered with thick with black smoke.”  

Now she had mentioned it, Tom could smell the acrid scent on the air.

They were both silent for a few moments and when Taylor turned away from the scene, Tom lowered her to the ground. She kept her arms around him and he wasn’t willing to let her go yet either. She rested her head on his shoulder and he placed his chin on the top of her head, holding her tightly, taking comfort from her.  

The reality of being a spy had never really been brought home to him before.  

“Do they think we were in the helicopter?” Tom asked.  

“They gave us enough time to get from the table to the chopper. If not, it’s a huge coincidence.”  

“So the paparazzi I saw might be in on it?”  

“Looks that way,” she agreed. 

“You still have the book, right?”  

“I do.” She placed her hand on the bag that was still slung over her shoulder.  

“Then let’s play along. It will take them some time put the fire out and to sift through the wreckage to determine how many bodies are in there.”  

“What do you suggest?” she asked, unsure what he meant exactly.  

“We stay put until the authorities get here, that should drive VEG away for a while.”  

“Then what? If we’re supposed to be dead, we can’t exactly hail a cab!”  

“No.” He shook his head. “We make our way to the car park and find an unlocked car, then we wait there and let the owner drive us away.”  

“People don’t leave their cars unlocked!”  

“This is a small airport with minimal security so maybe the people who work here aren’t as bothered by security as most people. There are still regions in America where people leave their doors unlocked, right?”

“I guess. We might get lucky.”  

“We  _will_ ,” Tom insisted. “Think positive.”  

Taylor nodded but didn’t reply.  


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Under cover of darkness they had made their way to the car park, unseen they thought, and found an unlocked Renault Clio. It was a small car but at least this was the 5 door model, not the 3. Still, squeezing into the back seat and keeping low and out of sight was almost impossible but they had little choice but to make it work. With her feet in the rather cramped footwell, Taylor was lying her upper body along the seat and Tom was laying his upper body over hers.  

He might have made a 69 joke, except Taylor was rather too testy right now to appreciate his humour. 

“Why does no one in this country drive a decent size car!” she demanded  slightly peevish from their close call. And her delayed orgasm.  

“Probably because the gas guzzlers you drive in the US make it hard to get around in cities that were built for a horse and carriage.”  

“Oh yeah, because America is all stupid and young and can’t even build its cities properly!”  

“I didn’t say that, I was just explaining­-”  

“Oh shut up!”  

“Shut up?” he sounded amused.  

“Yes! You English think you’re so special, but we beat you, remember?”  

“240 years ago,” he replied with a chuckle.  

“Oh… Shut up!”  

Before Tom could tease her anymore, the car beeped as if being unlocked by a key fob. Obviously whoever owned this car thought they had locked it.  

Now they just had to pray that she was exceptionally unobservant and didn’t notice the two people filling her back seat. They were helped by the fact it was night and there was a lack of decent lighting in the carpark.  

Taylor found herself reaching for Tom’s hand and squeezing it tightly.  

The owner got in and both of them held their breath.

“Please don't be alarmed, ma'am." Taylor said quietly.  

The woman in the driver's seat jumped and shrieked.  

"Merde! Qui la baise sont vous?! Qu'est­-ce que vous voulez?!" (Shit! Who the fuck are you?! What do you want?!)  

She spun in her seat and gasped when she saw just who they were, her heart thumping a mile a minute. She thought briefly that she might pass out. The poor woman turned an alarming red, clutching her throat and staring at the two people crammed into her tiny back seat. Tom laid his hand on Taylor's arm.  

"Let me, darling?" He turned to the panting woman and smiled charmingly.  

"Bonsoir, Madame. Nos noms sont Tom et Taylor. Nous avons besoin de votre aide..." He extended his hand to her.  (Good evening, Madame.  Our names are Tom and Taylor. We need your help...)  

“Merde." the woman gasped, and then took Tom's hand gingerly, her eyes stretched wide. Tom’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her  

"Ah, yes, I recognize you now." She answered in fluent, mildly accented English. "What...what can I do for you?"  Her eyes went back and forth between the two.  

‘ _He speaks_ _another damn language fluently!_ ’ Taylor thought as she watched Tom effortlessly charm and calm the woman. 

Tom continued to hold her hand gently, sliding his thumb over the back of her hand in a light caress, demonstrating that they meant no harm to her.  

"May we know your name, Madame?"  

"Oh yes, of course! It is Lisette." She flustered at introducing herself.  

Lisette was a small, comfortably round, motherly looking person, with a cute blonde hair cut and faded blue eyes that were losing their panicked look. She flushed slightly as she removed her hand from Tom's and switched her gaze to Taylor. She held out her hand.  

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Swift. I may not be your target age group, but I enjoy your music very much."  

Taylor smiled brilliantly. "It's always wonderful to meet a fan, and please, call me Taylor." She said graciously.  

"So," Lisette said encouragingly. "What ‘as ‘appened to the pair of you? Wait... That ‘elicopter explosion did not ‘ave anything to do with you two, did it??"  

"I'm afraid that it’s quite possible, Madame,” Tom replied. “We came in on that helicopter and it was refuelling while we had a quick meal inside. It blew while we were cleaning up." Tom delicately said, ignoring the tiny smirk on Taylor's lips.  

"C'est terrible! You ‘ave ‘ad a lucky escape!  But why are you ‘iding?"  

Taylor spoke up.  

"You see, we've been chased all over Rome by the paparazzi in the last two days, and some very suspicious accidents have happened. We think..." She watched Lisette carefully, "we think that we are being pursued by someone who means us real harm." She looked at Tom and touched his cheek tenderly.  

"There seem to be some people who are very unhappy about our, um, dating." She said in a small voice.  

Tom looked angry at that, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. He settled an arm around Taylor's shoulders and kissed her temple.  Lisette regarded the pair.  

"Well, I certainly ‘ave seen some of zat online.. It is filthy, what some people are saying about you two!"  Lisette looked angry now, too.  

"You just tell me what you need and I will see what I can do to ‘elp, oui?" She nodded firmly.  

Tom smile winningly.  

"Thank you so much, Lisette!" He glanced at Taylor, letting her take over again.  

"We really need to get back to London. Quietly, you understand."  

Lisette looked thoughtful. "Yes, I can see that." She thought briefly. "Alright. “I ‘ave a friend who lives near Paris. It will be a long drive but I am not working tomorrow, I can take you there." 

“We couldn’t put you out like that,” Tom insisted.  

“Is no trouble.”  

“But we’d ruin your day off!” 

“Pfft!” Lisette exclaimed. “First of all, I work part time only, now, so I have the next three days off. Second, I ‘ave Tom ‘iddleston and Taylor Swift in my car! I will dine out on stories of this night for months!” 

"Well. That's very kind of you, darling. We would be in your debt." Tom accepted graciously for the two of them. Taylor was relieved. She had been slightly afraid that Tom’s gentlemanly unwillingness to put anyone to trouble on his behalf would triumph over their need to reach London as soon as possible. 

Lisette colored slightly at being called 'darling' by Tom Hiddleston. She cleared her throat delicately and pulled out her mobile, calling her friend's number.  

"You won't tell your friend...?" Tom asked anxiously. "We wouldn't want to get it to get out that you are driving us. It might be dangerous, you see."  

"Don't worry! Yvonne is very much a fan, Tom!" Lisette giggled mischievously. "But it will be fun to see the look on her face when I turn up with you two in tow!" Her attention was taken when her friend answered her call.  "Bonjour, Yvonne."  

Lisette broke into rapid French, explaining to her friend that she would be driving up overnight if it was alright, and bringing two friends that she wanted to introduce. Yvonne agreed unsuspectingly to her surprise guests, said she'd have breakfast waiting for them, and how many beds did they need? It was all arranged.  

"Allons ­-y!" Taylor laughed. "I always wanted to say that!" she confided, and they all laughed as Lisette put the car in gear.  

“Would you like to sit up ‘ere with me, Miss Swift?" she invited shyly. “Then your Tom can stretch his veree long legs over the back seat.” She couldn’t help the admiring tone of her voice, and did not even try. 

Taylor squeezed Tom's hand with a smile.  

"That's very kind of you, Lisette, and if you don’t call me Taylor, I will have to go back to calling you ‘Madame’!" She climbed out of her seat and into the front, Tom's hand moving over her backside in a soft, surreptitious caress. She gave her butt a small wiggle before she slid into the seat and buckled her belt.  

They drove companionably through the night, stopping for petrol and a quick trip to the loos about half way. Once back on the road, Tom offered his mobile for music and Taylor broke out her chocolate bar to share amongst the three. She also offered Tom the small bottle of scotch she had secreted in her bag. He accepted gratefully, confiding in Lisette charmingly.  

"She's a brilliant girl, isn't she?" He smiled at Taylor fondly.  Lisette patted Taylor on her knee.  

"Oui, Thomas, she is! You could do far worse!" She nodded her head decisively and laughed. Taylor blushed and took a swallow of her own little bottle.  

"You don't mind, Lisette? We both need a little pick-­me-­up after our wild day!"  

"No dear, that's fine! You just relax now, we will be there soon."  

They ended up taking two hour shifts on the driving, so they all got a chance to rest and if not sleep, then doze for a while.  

When not sleeping they talked to fill the time and after five hours, and a full rundown of Lisette’s family career and major life events, Taylor made the executive decision that Lisette was a safe person to confide the truth to. Taylor and Tom took it in turn to explain their mission to this sympathetic woman.  

Lisette, for her part, was disbelieving, but then she reasoned that she had two international stars in her little Clio, and their helicopter had just been blown to smithereens with them presumed inside. Perhaps today was not a day to be sceptical!  

After making that mental leap, she found herself agog at the implications of an actual recipe for Happiness and agreed that the whole world could certainly use more happiness. No way should something so precious be sold only to the highest bidders, so she was all in!  

"You just wait, children," she said. "Yvonne and I, we will get you to London safely!" 

***

“No trace, ma’am… We checked out all the twitter sightings, every single one, but they were all false alarms.” 

Chief Lard looked at the fearful man in front of her, calmly reached into her desk drawer for her gun and shot him in the kneecap. The silencer was sounding a little loud now so she unscrewed it and replaced it with a brand new one.

Honestly, the Very Evil Group was the largest, best funded secret society in the entire world, and they couldn’t find one little actor and one blonde singer? 

“Must I do everything myself?” she muttered over the whimpering of the Agent she'd shot.  She stashed the gun in her purse before yelling. “Cue Cumber, get in here you idiot!”

A mousy woman ran in with a tablet clutched defensively to her chest and her eyes bulged when she saw Agent Lettuce lying on the floor bleeding from the knee and trying not to whimper. 

“Y- Yes, Chief?” she stuttered slightly.

Lard looked her up and down. “Who the hell dressed you today, a toddler?”

Agent Cumber opened her mouth to reply but Lard cut her off. 

“First, I'm heading to the airport now. I expect my plane to be fully fuelled, a flight plan to the UK filed and ready to go immediately. Second, I want every agent in Europe searching for these two, they cannot possibly drop off the face of the earth, they’re too dumb for that! Third, find someone to take  _ that _ out," she pointed to the writhing, bleeding man, "While I’m away get the carpets cleaned!  If the blood won’t come out, get new ones.”

“Yes, Chief L- Lard.” She dashed for the door before Lard could shoot her too. 

“Oh, and Cue Cumber?” 

She turned back. 

“Let it be known that any field agent who isn’t directly involved in capturing Hiddleswift will lose an appendage.”

“W- Which appendage?” she asked, her expression reflecting the terror she felt for her boyfriend, Agent Cauliflower. 

“That depends on how severely they screwed up. Might be the tip of a finger, maybe the whole arm, or even,” she mimed chopping off a penis with the edge of her hand. Agent Cumber looked shocked and Lard smiled cruelly, she enjoyed other people’s distress immensely. Especially if she was it's cause.

***

Yvonne lived in a quaint little detached house just outside of Paris. Lisette ordered Tom and Taylor to stay put in the car until she came for them.  

They looked about uncomfortably, hoping no one spotted them waiting. Fortunately it was quite dark and the surrounding homes slumbered.

“Cheer up, we’re nearly home,” Tom urged, taking her hand.  

“We’re still three hours from Calais,” Taylor said sharply, “and in case you forgot, we didn’t get our passports from Mince Pi, so we’re going to have to get sneak across the border which normally wouldn’t be too hard, except the French/English border is a goddamn 25 mile wide stretch of sea!” She was so weary that she didn’t realise that her voice was rising to the point that she almost sounded hysterical at the end.  

“You’ll find a way love, you always do.”

Taylor shook her head and blinked back tears. The lack of sleep combined with worry, and the possible loss of a fellow agent in Mince Pi, (whom, unusually, she had liked right away) all served to make her feel vulnerable. A sensation that she did not like at all. 

“Hey,” Tom soothed, rubbing his thumb rhythmically over the back of her hand. “It’s okay, we can do this.”  

Taylor nodded, trying to convince herself of that fact.  

“Maybe we should call Tarte Tatin,” she suggested.  

“Who is that?”  

“An English sleeper agent. She might be able to help us get across the channel.” 

“But can we trust her?” Tom wondered.  

“I don’t think she’d sell us out,” Taylor argued. “Sleeper agents are there for things like this.” 

“She might be honest, but I have my doubts that we were followed by helicopter.” 

“You think there’s a mole in MI Pi?”  

“At the very least there are double agents; Pecan Pi is a perfect example.” 

Taylor nodded sadly; she had trusted Pecan, he had been her tech support for nearly 2 years.  

“Can we really ask civilians to­-” 

Before she could finish her thought, the door opened and Lisette poked her head in.  

“Come, come,” she urged. “Quickly, before anyone sees you.”  

They rushed into the house, feeling relieved when the front door was closed behind them. 

“Zut alors!” a strange woman exclaimed from a doorway at the end of the hall. “You weren’t lying.”  The two carried on a rapid ­fire conversation in French and although Taylor didn’t speak French, she recognised that they were bickering like an old married couple. These two had obviously been friends for a long time. Tom looked increasingly amused. 

“Who care, breakfast ready,” Yvonne said in very heavily accented English. Her language skills were obviously not up to the same level as Lisette’s. 

They were ushered into a homey kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the 50s, but nothing looked old or worn out, so that was obviously a design choice rather than not being decorated for 60 years.  

“Come, sit,” Yvonne ordered, holding a chair out.  

While they ate and drank, they filled Yvonne in on their problem, namely getting to England without a passport. Tom did much of the talking because he could translate their plight into French. 

Yvonne would fire back in rapid French and Taylor was left to watch. Were it not for Lisette offering very brief translations, she would have been completely lost.  

“He say you no have passport for crossing.” “She say she know someone with van.” “He say border police very good at finding illegal emigrants, they find you two as well.” “She say we ‘ave many friends, she sort something while we sleep.” 

The conversation continued for a while longer but little was decided.  

Eventually they were ushered into a spare room and they stripped down to their underwear and climbed into bed. They were both too exhausted for anything more erotic than a quick kiss but they cuddled together, almost as though they were worried the other would be stolen away while they slept.  

Taylor knew that even if these ladies couldn’t help them, after a few hours rest she could puzzle her own way out of this predicament.  

*** 

They were rudely awakened just after noon by Yvette babbling a mile a minute in French and flinging their curtains wide open.  

Taylor covered her eyes with her hand. 

“What’s she saying?”  

“They’ve arranged our trip, apparently. Someone will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes. The bathroom’s in there apparently.” he pointed to a door off the bedroom.  

“Okay, alright, I’m up.” Still shielding her eyes against the light, she sat up, holding the sheets over her bra with her other hand.  

As soon as she was able to see without squinting, she reached for her go-bag and breathed a silent sigh of relief when she felt the weight of the book still in there. She hadn’t really expected these women to take it, but then she hadn’t expected Pecan to turn on her, or her helicopter to explode, or a nice customer service agent to drive them all the way to Paris after they had frightened the life out of her.

“You go first,” Tom offered, and Taylor accepted. She changed into her only set of clean underwear, brushed her teeth, scrubbed the remnants of yesterday’s makeup off her face, and ran her fingers through her hair. It had survived the night relatively intact.  

She didn’t have a second toothbrush for Tom but hopefully they would be back in London before they needed it again, so she offered him hers and her toothpaste, which he gratefully accepted.  

Downstairs Yvonne shoved a basket in her hands. “Dejuner,” she explained. “For eat in car.” 

Taylor nodded her understanding.  

“Good. ‘E be ‘ere soon.”  

“He who?” 

“Her son,” Lisette explained. “He’s driving you to Rouen, then you will be picked up by Lilly, lovely lady, and she will take you to Le Havre. She’s an experienced sailor so she ‘as a yacht in the ‘arbour. She will take you over the channel and you land near Brighton. There Sally will meet you and drive you to Crawley, then Jess take you to London. ‘Ere,” she handed Taylor a piece of paper. “It is all written down, names, telephone numbers. My number on the bottom, if you ‘ave any trouble.” 

Tom had heard most of that but it was Taylor who looked impressed. “You did all this in a few hours?”  

“You two are very popular people,” Lisette shrugged. “It is not ‘ard to find people who want to ‘elp you.” 

“Have you told them the danger they might be in?”  

“D’accord,” Yvonne smiled. “They say they not mind the danger, they say you are worth it.” 

Just then a horn beeped from outside.  

“Il est ici,” Yvonne said. “You must go. Vite!” 

Taylor and Tom hugged both of the women goodbye and thanked them for all their help, which delayed them long enough for two further horn blasts, getting longer each time.  

“Oh! Wait!” Yvonne called as they were at the front door. She rushed up stairs and returned a moment later with a cloche hat and a felt coat for Taylor, and a flat cap and wax jacket for Tom. “Disguise,” she explained, and Taylor had to admit, the clothes were a style neither of them would usually wear.  

Her son was sitting on the horn by now, and Yvette began to swear under her breath as she ushered Tom and Taylor out of the door.  Taylor felt exposed in the daylight, especially as Yvonne began arguing with her son as they approached his vehicle. Luckily they were in the suburbs so there weren't too many people about to see them, but Taylor still kept her head lowered and Tom pulled his wax jacket tighter around him. 

Most of the time being a celebrity worked for them because it was an excellent cover for their spying activities. Not to mention, they got invited to places that the general public just wouldn’t be given the opportunity to see.  

Now though, when stealth was paramount, celebrity could be a huge drawback, as anyone who even thought they saw the two of them might post their location on Twitter and then everyone would know where to find them.  

Lisette led them to the rear of a small Citroen C15 van, just managing to make space among the decorating supplies for them to sit. Tom found a couple of 5 gallon white emulsion paint pots for them to sit on, while Lisette argued vocally with her son about his rudeness.  

“They love each other, really,” Lisette tried to excuse their behaviour. “Good luck, and if Bertrand gives you any trouble, you call me. Yvonne will set him straight.” 

“Thank you for everything,” Taylor said one last time.  

“Our pleasure, mes amies.  Bonne chance!” 

She closed the doors and while they waited for the argument up front to finish, Taylor tucked her hair unto her hat. Tom’s was jacket wasn’t a great fit so he took it off for now and folded it up offering it to Taylor as a seat cushion.  

She was touched by his thoughtfulness and offered him a kiss in exchange.  

Finally Bertrand pulled away but he and his mother were still shouting at each other until they were out of earshot, then he began muttering under his breath. 

Tom and Taylor exchanged a look, hoping their driver wasn’t as crazy as he was acting.  


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

In the end Bertrand dropped them off Rouen, and they were left stranded on a roadside, wondering what to do next.  

Taylor took the sheet of paper out of her pocket. 

“It says we’re meeting someone called Lilly, but not where or when we’re meeting her.” She handed him the paper so he could see for himself.  

“No doubt we're early, Bertrand did seem to break every speed limit known to man.”  

Taylor nodded and looked around, worried.  

“Maybe we should call Lisette and ask what time we’re supposed to meet Lilly?”  

Tom took his phone out and dialled her number, which was at the bottom of the paper.  

Before he could press the call button though, Taylor threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground as a tree beside them exploded.  

With some shock Tom realised they had been shot at. They were lying flat in fairly long grass though, which provided them with some cover, although Tom suddenly wished that grass was bullet proof.  

“Come on,” Taylor urged, crawling on her stomach into a fortunately handy little culvert to a wooded area where they could hide behind some trees. 

“How the hell did they find us?” Tom wanted to know. 

“I don’t know. Are you sure your phone is MI Pi issue?” she asked. The company phones were designed to be completely untraceable, unlike regular cell phones.  

“Yes, of course! I’m not  _ that  _ new!”  

“Then one of us must have a tracker,” she concluded as they reached the tree line and each found a tree to sit with their backs to.  “Shit.”

The road they had been left on was a fairly quiet country lane, so when Taylor peeked out she could see two ‘gentlemen’ standing in the middle of the road, each with a gun raised at their side as they searched for movement. Their car was parked perhaps five meters away and Taylor wondered if there was any way she and Tom could reach it. 

“Do we have guns?” Tom asked.  

“No.”  

“Why not?”  

“Because the British don’t believe in them!” Taylor sneered a little. “Good thing I don’t need a gun.” She fished her knife out of her bag and hefted it a few times, reminding herself of it balance, then she carefully turned sideways, doing her best not to stick any appendages out from the cover of the tree trunk.  

“I need a distraction,” she told him.  

Tom looked around and found a few fist sized stones which he collected, then he threw them in the opposite direction to Taylor, aiming for another trunk. He hit the trunk on his second try and the noise drew the attention of their assailants, who fired in that direction.  

Taylor took the opportunity to look out from behind her trunk, then she threw the knife.  

It embedded itself in the neck of one of gunmen with a meaty thunk and he dropped his gun, grabbed the knife, pulled it out and promptly fell to the ground. His colleague was already firing at Taylor as she ducked back behind the tree. 

“Eww.” she muttered. “I hate that sound.”

“I’ll get you for that!” The other man yelled, stooping to pick up his fallen comrade’s gun.  

“I don’t suppose you have another knife?” Tom asked.  

“Nope, fresh out.”  

“Damn.” Tom’s brain was whirring at a hundred miles an hour until he hit on their only solution: they had to deplete the man’s ammunition so they could fight hand to hand, it was the only way they stood a chance.  

He poked his hand out from behind the tree, drawing it back before the bullet could hit it.  

“What the hell are you doing??” Taylor demanded.  

“Using up his bullets!” His leg was next and now the gunman knew where he was, the answering bullet only missed by whisker and was followed by a quick succession of gunfire, which tore the deep bark of the old oak tree. He heard Taylor give a pained gasp. 

Before he could ask they heard a loud thud, followed by a screech of brakes and they looked out to see the gunman lying unconscious in the road, and a rather large dent in the hood of a family car. 

The driver stuck her head out of the window and yelled, “Get in! Shift yer arse!” towards the trees.  

Taylor and Tom made a run for it, clambering into her back seat.  

“Lilly?” Taylor asked.  

“That’s me,” the woman smiled. “Looks like you two found yourself a spot of bother!”  

“You could say that,” Tom deadpanned.  

“You’re English?” Taylor asked.  

“I am, Queen and country and all that,” she smiled at them in the rear­view mirror, explaining wryly “I moved to France for a quiet life…”  

*** 

In case their clothes were bugged, Tom and Taylor sat in Lilly’s back seat in the rear corner of a car park, clothed in only the coats and hats Yvonne had given them, while Lilly was in the store buying new outfits for them. Their own clothes had been tossed out of the car windows while they drove.  

"I liked that bag!" Taylor grumbled, glaring at Tom. “It was a Louis Vuitton and my favourite go-bag.”

“I’ll buy you another.” 

“It’s not the same!” she snapped.

“It’s not my fault we had to toss it.” 

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” 

“No,” Tom sighed. “It’s no one’s fault.” He put his arm around her and nuzzled her.  “Guess I owe you two bags now.”

He shouldn’t have snatched it out of her hands, he silently lamented. He’d tossed it out of the window and watched it land in a creek running alongside the road, then he'd turned back to see Taylor looking like he’d just thrown her puppy away. At least he'd remembered to take the all-important book out first!

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, because he was truly sorry to bring her unhappiness. 

Taylor nodded her grudging acceptance of his apology. 

***

Lilly was bursting to tell someone she had a naked Tom Hiddleston in her car but alas, she knew she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.  

She would rather think about the thrill of having her idol in her car though, rather than the memory of almost having killed someone. They had checked on the bastard, he was still alive and largely uninjured, and they’d left him bound to a tree with his own handcuffs. His people would find him by nightfall, Taylor assured her. 

It was reassuring, although not exactly calming news. 

She focused on the paper in her hand instead, where she had written Tom’s sizes down. She carefully selected some nondescript jeans, a three pack of t-shirts, and a knit jumper for him, plus socks and canvas deck shoes.

Taylor was easier to buy for, as she was used to women’s sizes. She bought Taylor pretty much the same outfit as Tom’s, so neither of them were wearing anything that would stand out in a crowd. Taylor’s beautifully made up face was familiar the world over, so she would just have to do without cosmetics for now. Her bare face ought to be a good disguise. She did take pity and get Taylor some lip balm and a nice smelling lotion that she thought Tom would like.

She briefly wondered if she should go nuts and buy them matching onesies or something equally ridiculous, they were completely at her mercy after all but alas, she was too much of an adult to do that to them. It didn't stop her sniggering over the possibility, though!

With the clothes purchased she headed out to the car, handing out their clothes and turning away while they changed. 

“Thank you!” Taylor said sincerely. “You never realise just how important clothes are until you don’t have them!”

“That goes on the list of ‘best feelings’,” Tom agreed. 

“Best feelings?” Lilly asked as she started the car and pulled away. 

“We were comparing the best feelings in the world,” Taylor explained. “Feels like a week ago, but it was only yesterday, just before the helicopter crashed.” 

“Anyway,” Tom butted in, trying to keep the mood light. “We decided the best feelings were eating when really hungry and peeing when you’re bursting.”

“Sleeping when you’re dog tired,” Lilly added. 

“And new clothes when you’re naked,” Taylor finished. 

“Speaking of eating, you folks hungry?” 

Tom and Taylor daren’t share a look as neither was completely dressed yet, but it had been a good few hours since they’d nibbled on the food Yvonne had packed for them. 

“Before we decide on food, I think we have to talk about what to do next,” Taylor suggested. “Is there any flexibility in the plan?” 

“Of course,” Lilly smiled. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well it’s obvious VEG had a tracker on us. Thanks to that bastard Pecan Pi, probably..  But they’re short range, which is why they didn’t pick us up until we stayed still for a bit, but they’ve probably been following us from Paris.”

“You want us to arrange a different crossing?” Lilly asked. “We can try but I don’t know anyone else with a boat.” 

“Actually I was thinking more of staying put for a day, and seeing if perhaps you could get the fangirls to tweet some misdirection, sightings of us on the way to the Channel Tunnel, or maybe landing in Cornwall or something.” 

“So they'll think they’ve missed you?” 

“Exactly! Can you hide us for a day?” 

“I think I can manage that, as long as you don’t mind sharing a house with a crotchety old Labrador.”

“You don’t have a husband at home? We don’t want to be any trouble.” 

“Lord no, the yacht was my divorce present to myself.” She grinned at them in the rear-view mirror.  

“No children at home?” Tom asked. He had finished dressing and was just tucking his t-shirt into the back of  his jeans. 

“All grown up and moved out. It's just me, Grumpy, and a few other furry friends now. His real name is Sam but I’ve just been calling him Grumpy since he was 10.”

“Why do you have such a big car?” Taylor asked, surprised that Lilly hadn't downsized the car along with her family, not that she disliked it. She couldn’t imagine trying to change clothes in Lisette’s little Clio for example. 

“To tow the boat,” she explained. “I take it out of the water over winter so when the kids left, I kept the big car.” 

“You don’t live near anybody, do you?” 

“No, I have a wee farm house in the country.”

***

The ‘wee farmhouse’ turned out to be massive. Okay, it was smaller than Taylor’s house, but larger than Tom’s. It was near the coast and she assured them it was just a 20 minute drive to the harbour in the morning.

“I keep thinking I should convert the outhouses like the old barn and stable to accommodation and rent them out, but I like my privacy too much,” Lilly explained as they drove around the house to a yard at the side. 

“Of course I can't convert the stables until I get rid of the pony’s, and they seem determined to see me out.”

“You ride?” Taylor asked. 

“Used to. These are a couple of rescue ponies I collected on my travels. I also have a goat, a few rabbits in a run inside the stable, and a dozen or so stray cats who don’t live here exactly, but they show up fairly regularly knowing I’ll feed them, and in the winter they like to sleep in the stables.”

“You don’t let them in the house?” Tom asked. 

“Can’t, I’m horribly allergic, but that doesn’t mean I have to let them starve.”

She led them inside through the rear door and straight into a kitchen that could have come from the pages of an Aga catalogue. 

Immediately two terrier type dogs dashed at them and coming up behind them was an old golden retriever who seemed to growl with every step. 

“That’s Misha and this is Larkin,” Lilly explained. 

“I thought you only had one dog,” Taylor said, bending down to pet one of the terriers. 

“Only one grumpy dog. You can do what you  like with these two, but he,” she pointed at the retriever, “likes to sleep in doorways and hallways. Whatever you do, don’t move him. Just step over him and you’ll be all right.” 

“Does he bite?” Taylor was down on one knee greeting the smaller dogs. 

“Not so far, but he gets tetchier every year and I wouldn’t want to risk it.”

“Is he ill?” Tom had to ask. 

“Not so far as my vet can tell. Says he’s healthy as a horse, just getting old, growing slow, and not very happy about it. Now, let me give you a brief tour.”

She called out the names of the rooms as they passed them and led them upstairs. 

“This’ll be you,” she said. “It’s the only other room with an en suite bathroom. I’ll get you some fresh linens.”

They looked about the room while she was gone. 

“Are you happy to share?” Tom whispered.

“Well she is a fan, we have to keep up the ruse,” Taylor replied. 

“Right, the ruse,” Tom nodded, earning peevish look from Taylor. 

Lilly bustled back in then, setting the linens on the end of the bed and telling them to help themselves to anything they needed, or to find her if they couldn’t find something, then she left them alone.

Taylor took a quick reconnoiter through the house, checking for signs of bugs or other surveillance. She paid particular attention to the guest bedroom Lilly had given them, opening doors, inspecting the closet and connecting bath. She went through all the drawers in the dresser and night stands.  She was delighted to discover a box of condoms in the drawer, she picked it up and it gave a satisfying rattle of more than one. Taylor had been so busy with the details of staying alive and undetected that she had forgotten that discarding all their clothing meant that they had lost those necessary items. Tom would be pleased.

***

After a beautiful dinner of beef casserole and red wine, Tom, Taylor and Lilly were relaxing on the rear stone patio, which was lit with candles on the table and evenly placed citronella burners around the edge of the clearing. 

The three dogs lay around the patio, ostensibly sleeping but it was obvious they all had one ear open, just waiting for the plates to be cleared. 

“That was beautiful,” Taylor smiled at her. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Lilly smiled. “Now, anyone for dessert? I only have ice cream but I might have some maple syrup somewhere too.”

“Couldn’t eat another thing,” Tom assured her, holding his stomach. 

“Nor me,” Taylor agreed. 

Lilly’s phone beeped and she picked it up and checked the message. 

“Just Lisette,” she explained, who had been sending updates all night. “The first sighting of you in Dover has just been posted, two more from that area due to be tweeted over the next hour.”

So far there had been ‘sightings’ at a rest stop on the way to Calais, a possible sighting of them in a car waiting to board the train for the tunnel, complete with a low resolution and grainy picture that Lilly took of them side on, sitting in the front of her car, so no details of the car were visible in the picture but you could just make out Taylor and Tom. 

“My god, you’re so efficient,” Taylor marvelled, and Lilly threw her an incredulous expression. “Seriously, the organisation you have shown here is world class, and you’ve done something MI Pi couldn’t, which is get us out of the country.” 

“You’re not home yet,” Lilly noted touching the wooden table for luck. 

“No, I know but… I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” 

“Fandom is different than you imagined.” Lilly said with a smile. 

“I guess.” 

“I think what Taylor is trying to say,” Tom interrupted, worried Taylor would give offence, “is that you seem more interconnected than we ever imagined.

“You thought we were just here for you both,” she grinned mischievously, “And granted, that’s why we came, but a big part of the reason we stayed is because of the friends we make. I have friends in all four corners of the globe, thanks to Tom here, and I’ve met a fair few of them as they’ve passed my neck of the woods too.”

“That’s really sweet,” Taylor smiled. 

“Fandoms, especially predominantly female ones, get a rough ride, but we’re just like any bunch of people who share a hobby or interest. Sure, we have some crazies and they tend to make headlines, but all groups have those sorts. No, the vast majority are just regular folks, like you were before you became famous.” 

“We’re still regular folks,” Tom argued.

“Maybe,” Lilly teased, “But I haven’t ever seen regular folks being shot at.” 

“Okay,” he held his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got me there.” 

“Well, let’s clear up here, then I think I’m going to read for a while. Make yourselves at home and come find me if you  need anything.”

***

Tom sat back against the headboard of the bed, the sheet pooled over his hips as he thumbed through the book of Solomon's sermons reverently, carefully, delicately turning pages, completely absorbed. 

Taylor emerged from the bath, a towel around her hair, not a stitch of makeup on, and a too-short towel wrapped around her body. She rocked to a stop at the sight of him. The soft light on the bedside table gleamed in his hair, the longer hair at the top beginning to wave and curl. There were some still damp curls clinging to his forehead. 

Taylor's gaze slid down his face, the light highlighting and hollowing the planes of his face, sharpening in some places, softening in others. She watched, fascinated as he chewed his lip in concentration, his eyebrows lifting at something he was reading in the ancient book. 

Taylor blinked and replayed that thought: '...that he was reading in the ancient book'. 

Taylor knew from her own perusal of it that the thing was written in what might be Aramaic, annotated and translated, presumably by monks, into Latin. It had all been Greek to her. Taylor let out a tiny snort at the thought and another thought followed quickly on its heels: Shit! Didn't he say he'd studied classics in college? 

Taylor laughed out right, startling Tom into looking wildly around, so intent had he been on the tome that he was unaware of her presence. 

Tom grinned at Taylor's amusement, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her in nothing but a towel, despite having no clue as to the source of her amusement. His eyebrows went up with the grin. 

"Yes?" He inquired. 

"It's just occurred to me that you are actually reading that thing! And understanding it, aren't you?" Tom's eyes lit with enthusiasm. 

"Oh yes! Did you know, this says that­-” 

Taylor threw her hand up and stopped him. 

"One: Tom don't say that out loud! I am 99.99% sure that we are not being recorded, but there's no point in risking that .001% is there? And two: You can read and understand what's in there? Seriously? You are more than just a pretty face, aren't you?" She said softly as she climbed onto the bed and knelt next to his hip.  Tom grinned. 

"Mmm.  I'm given to understand that my ass is pretty, too," he teased. 

She leaned over to him and slid her hand into the back of his hair, pulling him into her kiss, as her other hand clutched the towel to her breasts. 

Tom's hand came to the back of Taylor's head, his mouth sliding hungrily over hers, his other hand tugging at the towel under her breasts, slipping into that gap and flicking over a nipple. 

Taylor whined into his mouth. 

Suddenly he gasped, remembering, and pulled back, clutching at the book on his chest and sagging in relief to find it undamaged. He carefully slid it back into its protective cover, and into Taylor's bag. He turned back to Taylor kneeling on the bed. 

"Come here, Tay," he murmured in a soft demand, his hand sliding down her ribs, over her hip and grasping her ass, pulling her down onto his chest. 

Tom pulled the towel from her hair, running his long fingers through the damp strands as he kissed her. She smiled against his lips as he tugged the towel still clutched in her hand. 

Taylor sat up and let the towel drop, and Tom's breath stuttered at her loveliness... and at the large bruise on her ribs. 

His fingers traced the disfiguration gently, his brow furrowed in concern. 

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry. How does it feel now?" 

Taylor leaned forward for another kiss. 

"It's killing me..." She murmured playfully against his lips.  "You might have to kiss it all better..."

"Oh, no..." Tom pulled her once again onto his chest, his arms wrapping around her torso, kissing her deeply, and sliding his lips down her throat. 

Taylor lifted her head, stretching her neck to give Tom space to nibble and suckle at that place on the side of her neck that felt soooo good. Lifting her leg, she threw it over him and wriggled on top of him, sliding her hands down his chest as she pushed up, straddling him. 

"Oh, lovely..." he murmured, his hands cupping her pretty breasts. Taylor scraped her nails lightly over his pecs, deliberately catching and tugging at his hard little nipples. 

Tom groaned, his hands tightening on her breast and hips lifting under her. 

She moaned at the feel of his hard cock sliding in her moisture against her folds, grinding down on him, hoping he'll take the hint. She reached into the bedside drawer where she had found a stash of condoms waiting.

Once again, he proved that he is more than a pretty face. He held still as she rolled the condom over him. Shifting his hips he wasted no time in  finding her entrance.  He paused there, panting and nearly blinded by the feel of her, hot and tight, enclosing the head of his cock. 

Taylor pushed herself down, slowly impaling herself on him until he was fully seated in her. 

"God, Tom," she grunted. 

Tom's hands clutched her hips. 

"Move, Tay.  Please... move," he breathed. 

She rocked forward and began to slide over and around his cock as his hands gripped tighter, guiding her, listening to her delicious, increasingly needy little noises.  

Tom took his time, relishing the slow, slick, slide in and out of her. 

Taylor pulled his hands from her hips, her impatience and need won through. Twining her fingers in his and pinning them to the bed next to his head, she leaned forward and began to work her hips over him. Changing the angle dragged the head of his cock across someplace inside her and she gasped her need and building urgency. 

She freed a hand and worked it between her thighs, but Tom knocked her hand away with a growl, replacing it with his own, his thumb circled and pressed over her clipped as she rocked more urgently. 

"Tom, Tom, Tom!" She cried out as her orgasm crashed through her, whiting out all her other senses, leaving only the pounding of her heart and the pulsing of her walls around him. 

"Fuck!" She gasped, collapsing onto his chest. Tom clutched her and thrust ferally into her, the rippling of her walls driving him to his own release. 

Taylor lay limply over him, feeling his heart pounding under hers as they both gasped for air. She lifted her head to kiss his rough chin, only then realizing that they were glued to each other with a sheen of sweat. She huffed and rolled off him with a chuckle, lying on her back next to him, still panting at the ceiling.  His hand found hers, slipped into it and squeezed.  

They both slept. 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lilly pulled into a lay-by overlooking the Marina, turning her head lamps off. They sat quietly looking around for anything out of place, or any suspicious activity. Finding nothing, Lilly started up the car and they continued down the winding hill to the car park.

"Sound carries like you wouldn't believe over water, so keep quiet until we are underway." Lilly cautioned.

"Taylor, you are going to be my tall boyfriend." Taylor blinked at Lilly.

Lilly explained. "It's still quite dark, but there are a few security lights around, just enough light that we might be seen from a distance as a couple – a short woman and a tall man, not the two tall people who are being watched for, right?" Taylor nodded.

"Yes, I see. Okay. Tom, give me your jacket, let's bulk up my silhouette."

"Great! Good idea!"  She beamed at Taylor. Smart girl, this. Tom stripped off the wax jacket that Yvette had given him and helped Taylor on with it, dropping a kiss on the back of her neck as he did so.

"Quit flirting with my boyfriend, would you Thomas?" Lilly grinned at Tom.

Tom choked on a laugh and Taylor snickered. Lilly turned back to Taylor, who was removing her choche hat and storing it in one of the jacket’s huge pockets.

“Why don’t women’s clothes come with these many pickets?” she wondered.

“Here,” Tom handed her his flat cap to hide her hair under.

"So,” Lilly began, “we two are going to walk down to where my dinghy is tied up, it's the fourth one on the left along that dock there." She pointed.  "If you put your arm over my shoulders, that would be good... A little kiss and a cuddle half way along the dock would sell the deal!" Lilly raised her eyebrows at Taylor in question.

She looked Lilly up and down.

"Yeah, all right. You're pretty cute," she said with her lips pursed and head on the side judiciously, a wicked twinkle in her eye.

Lilly grinned and winked. She turned to Tom to find him staring at the two of them with a slightly dazed look. Lilly snickered and smacked Tom's shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Snap out of it, lover boy! Now, you're going to wait five minutes before you follow us, right? Be sure to be alert for any movement or lights, not that I expect any trouble at stupid o’clock in the morning, but you never know."

Tom's eyebrow twitched up.  "Then why go through all that rigmarole?"  Lilly grinned at him saucily.

"When am I ever going to get another chance to kiss Taylor Swift??" She passed him her car keys. “And don’t forget to lock up.”

With Tom muttering ‘Expect to steal my girlfriend then order me around, do you?’ under his breath, she opened the car door and got out, quietly shutting it behind her and waiting for Taylor to join her. The two ambled off, Taylor's arm around Lilly's shoulders and Lilly’s arm around Taylor's waist. From a distance they did indeed look like to lovers walking together.

Tom kept watch around the harbor as they made their way down the dock. There was no movement other than the swaying of the boat masts in the light chop of the harbour water. They stopped under one of the few lights illuminating the dock and kissed, Taylor's hand rubbing up and down Lilly's back.

That was Tom’s cue to leave but he had to pause to adjust himself before following quietly after the two women, shaking his head at himself. That was never going to happen, but it might turn up later when he was alone in the shower...

He climbed into the dinghy and Lilly handed him a life vest which he obediently put on, checking Taylor's straps, and oh what the hell, checking Lilly's straps for good measure. He gave her a twinkling grin and an extra tug on her straps for mischief's sake when he heard her breathing stop.

Lilly waved a silent finger at his cheek and started the little engine, casting off the dock line and getting the small craft under way. Still no movement or lights, even though the small engine's noise shattered the quiet.

Under cover of the noisy puttering engine, Lilly instructed them to get below one once they were on board her yacht, she wanted to get well out of the harbour before letting the two fugitives up on deck.

Once on board they offered to help Lilly with the dinghy but she assured them she was fine and shooed them away.

Taylor went carefully down the steep ladder and into the cabin. She gasped at how unexpectedly spacious it seemed, like Hermione's handbag, there were lots of built in cupboards and every bit of space underneath was utilized.

It was quiet, the only sounds was that of the water gently slapping against the hull and the distant tink, tink of the metal clips on the halyards against the mast above.

Taylor toed her canvas sneakers off and crawled onto the bunk, Tom right behind her. They could hear Lilly moving about on deck getting her lines ready. The engine started up and soon the faint rocking of the boat smoothed out into a steady sense of movement as the water shushed against the hull.

Taylor was lulled right to sleep. Tom was too awake, but he enjoyed the chance to watch her sleep in the dim light. She looked so young and innocent in slumber. One would never know that she was a competent, commanding, capable agent. But just now, he thought, watching as her eyelashes fluttered and the corner of her mouth curled up just slightly, she is the sweetest thing in the world. Even better, he knows that when she wakes and catches sight of him she will be –

Taylor's eyes suddenly flew open and she leaned up on her elbow, opened her mouth and... vomited on Tom's chest.

Tom had barely noticed when the steady momentum of the boat had changed to a deeply rolling and rocking motion as they left the harbour for the deeper sea. Apparently Taylor's stomach had noticed first.

Tom grimaced at the warm stinking spatter soaking through his T-shirt, but leapt into action. He stood quickly and scooped Taylor off the bunk hustling with her to the head, where he deposited her on her knees over the appropriate receptacle. It's a good thing Taylor's hair is short, there wasn't space in the tiny room to hold her hair for her.

Taylor wretched a few more times, but she hadn't much in her stomach, fortunately. Tom stepped back and whipped his shirt off, dropping it in the galley sink and giving it a quick rinse.

He stuck his head through the hatch to locate Lilly a few feet away at the helm.

"Taylor is seasick, Lilly. Is there anything I can do to help her?"

Lilly issued rapid fire instructions about where to find Dramamine patches and cold water to rinse her mouth. As Tom nodded, glancing behind himself with concern as he heard Taylor groaning.

"But the best thing is to get her up here on the deck where she can watch the horizon. That will help steady her."

"Right."

“Oh, and it’s not much but if you lift the bench by the table, there’s a holdall of clothes down there, hopefully there’ll be something in your size.”

“Get a lot of sea sickness?” he asked.

“No,” she smiled at a memory, “But more than a few have fallen or been pushed in, including me, so I know first hand how miserable it is to spend the day in wet clothes.”

“Thank you.”

Tom found the medicated sticky patches, rapidly read the instructions and slapped one onto Taylor’s shoulder, giving her a cold bottle of water to rinse with and drink, explaining that she'd feel better in the fresh air. Then he quickly ransacked the holdall Lilly had told him about, finding long sleeved grey t-shirt that would do the job.

He helped her up the ladder and found a spot on the tilted deck for her to sit, rubbing her back and singing softly in her ear. Shortly Taylor began to feel very much better as they sat there, watching the sun come up, all pink and orange and lovely.

"Tom?" Lilly called over the sound of the rushing water and wind. "I think we'll make better time in this following wind if we put the spinnaker sail up. It will stabilize the roll of the boat too, and that ought to bring some relief to a queasy tum! But I'll need your help, it's a two man job."

Tom's eyes lit, his enthusiasm for action showing clearly. Lilly motioned for him to join her and instructed him in keeping the bow steady in the wind. She watched him handle the wheel for a moment, and satisfied that he had the knack, she went forward and readied the spinnaker for raising, clipping it onto the halyard.

"Ready?" She shouted back at Tom.

"Aye aye, Captain!"

"Go!" Lilly began to haul on the line and the spinnaker lifted off the deck, luffing with the wind.

Tom turned into the wind and let the mainsail luff, the boat slowing. Lilly tied off the line and scrambled back to the cockpit, relieving Tom. Tom's laugh was exhilarated as they watched the wind flap and then catch the enormous sail.  filling it. The boat seemed to leap forward and the ride steadied.

Taylor moved back to sit in the cockpit with the other two, feeling much better.

"It's beautiful'" she shouted over the wind. The red sail that pulled them along looked like one half of a hot air balloon, billowing out in front of them.

They chatted about her boat and Lilly regaled them with stories of the places she'd been as they ate the bread and cheese that she had brought along.

They passed a few other boats, but none close enough for anyone to recognise Tom and Taylor.

As the English coastline began to loom large on the horizon, the mood in the boat changed. After a while Taylor had been able to completely let her guard down and relax, knowing that no one knew where they were and no one was coming for them.

That anonymity would be much harder to maintain once back on dry land.

“How do we do this?” Tom asked.

“I’ll anchor the boat then take you to land in the dinghy. A girl named Sally will be waiting for you and I’ve got the coordinates of the beach she’s waiting on.”

“How will she know where we are?” Tom asked.

“I’ll use the satellite phone and tell her we’re coming.”

They dropped anchor and climbed back onto the small dinghy. Both had their hats and coats on once more.

Lilly used her GPS to guide the dinghy to the correct beach but although she brought them as close to shore as she could, she didn’t want to beach the craft so Tom and Taylor took their socks and shoes off, rolling their jeans up as far as possible, ready to wade through the shallow waters.

The beach was pebbled and fairly grass covered, not the sandy sort of beach that attracts tourists, so it looked deserted and they allowed themselves a few minutes to say goodbye.

Taylor hugged her first, kissing her cheek as she thanked her for all her help.

Tom did the same, murmuring in her ear his thanks for fueling his naughty daydreams for the next few months.

Lilly playfully smacked his shoulder then all three looked towards land.

The water would soon be too shallow for the motor so Lilly cut it  and raised it out of the water, then she plucked the plastic oars from their housing and Tom rowed the last few feet to shore.

“I think I see someone,” Taylor pointed and emerging from behind a cluster of gorse bushes was a young woman with a nest of flyaway curly hair.

“That’s Sally,” Lilly confirmed. “Lisette sent me her picture last night.”

They got as close as possible to the beach, literally until the dinghy caught on the sand, then Lilly tried to hold it in place by digging an oar into the sand at the rear. Tom and Taylor jumped from the boat, landing in twelve inches of water.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Tom said. “We are forever indebted to you.”

Lilly made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go on, get out of here before anyone sees you.”

Tom grinned then bent over and with his hands on the bow of the small boat, he pushed her back into the water, walking a few steps deeper until she was clear.

“Thank you,” she called as he backed away and she drifted out to sea. “Good luck.” she said as loudly as she dared, unwilling to call attention to them.

Tom raised a hand in acknowledgement, then turned around and jogged to catch up with Taylor.

Sally had come to a stop and waited for them to approach her, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Sally?” Taylor said calmly, as if she was talking to a frightened dog.

The woman nodded.

“I’m Taylor. It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, enveloping her in a huge hug.

“Hi,” she squeaked, hardly moving, blushing an alarming red.

Taylor pulled away and when Tom didn’t make a move, she nudged Tom toward Sally, nearly pushing him into Sally’s arms. Tom knew what to do with an armful of soft woman. Tom had paused because of Sally’s seeming catatonia but once he hugged her too, she put her arms around him and finally seemed to breathe again.

“Oh God,” she said, blushing as Tom pulled away. “I’m so sorry for like zoning out on you there.”

“It’s fine, darling,” Tom assured her.  He gestured ahead. “Shall we get going?”

“Oh, right, yes, uh, follow me.” Sally stuttered a bit before turning and leading the way.

“How did you know..?” Tom whispered to Taylor as they walked.

“I’ve seen that star struck look a hundred times before. Physical contact usually helps break them out of it.”

Tom smiled at her. Sure, she had 80 million twitter followers to his paltry three million and sure, she could sell out massive stadiums but he’d never really appreciated what her fame meant before, or the grace with which she handled it. With so many fans, she should take them for granted, but she didn’t. He knew she didn’t sell meet-and-greet tickets after her shows like most singers did, but instead had her people give those tickets away during her shows, and he was slowly coming to realise that she liked and respected her fans.

He respected his fans as well, but sometimes they frightened him a bit with their intensity. He could learn a lot from Taylor. Well, he was.

Sally led them along a track to a small dirt clearing, where she’d parked her car, chattering away about the weather and asking about their crossing.

“Here,” she handed them each a towel so they could dry their feet before putting their shoes and socks back on and they sat sideways in their seats to do so.

Taylor told Tom go get in the front while she took the rear since it would look odd having two passengers in the back and anything odd would draw attention to them, and Sally stashed the towels in the boot, then climbed into the driver's seat.  

“Sorry,” she apologised for her car. “It’s not very pretty, I know, but she’s reliable enough.”

“My first car was nothing to write home about either,” Tom assured her as Sally pulled away, heading down a dirt track for the main road, as directed by her satnav.

“Sorry I can’t take you all the way,” she said as she turned onto the main roads. “My Mum just had an operation on her knee and I need to get back for visiting times.”

“That’s no trouble,” Tom smiled at her. “We appreciate what you’re doing and I hope your mother recovers swiftly.”

Sally grinned like a lunatic at his charm.

“I still really can’t believe this is happening,” she shook her head as she spoke.

Taylor was distracted by the contents of the boot, which were visible from the back seat.

“What are all these boards and art folders for?” she asked. []

“Oh, they’re just my doodles,” she explained, but the red blush on her cheeks said it was more than that. “The boards are my display stands.”

“Can I look?” she asked.

“I-” she looked like she was dying to say something but the words were blocked. “They’re Mini-Hiddles!” she finally blurted.

“Mini-Hiddles?” Tom sounded amused.

“I draw cartoons and caricatures,” Sally admitted. “Mostly they’re of you, you’re my biggest seller.”

“May I?” Taylor asked again.

“Sure,” she sighed shyly. “Why not.”

Taylor pulled a small folder through, larger than A4 and began to look through them.

“Oh wow, these are really good,” she gushed, passing some to Tom.

“I’ve seen these before,” Tom said with a smile. “One of Loki sitting on a skyscraper, eating popcorn and watching the avengers fight. Someone brought it to me to sign on a rope line, I think.”

“Yeah, that was mine,” Sally blushed.

“So where do you sell these?”

“Mostly online, prints on mugs or t-shirts and stuff, but the originals prints are boxed up for conventions.”

“You’re a dealer?”

“I get a table in the Artist’s Alley,” she explained. “It’s for artists only and  _ a lot  _ cheaper than the dealer's room.”

Tom reached a picture of him telling Kong off for getting his stage directions wrong, and laughed. “This is really clever.”

“Thanks,” Sally blushed.

“Oh my god!” Taylor exclaimed and passed a picture through to Tom. “You have a Mini-Taylor!”

It was a cartoon of her and Tom on the rocks at her Rhode Island home, discussing skinny dipping. Post Hiddlesbum Mini-Hiddles was all for it, and Mini-Taylor was reminding him how cold the Atlantic Ocean was.

Tom laughed as he read the captions. “Brilliant, I love it!”

Sally began to relax, realising her idol/muse did not think she was a weirdo.

“And do you actually make a living doing this?” he asked, handing the cartoons back to Taylor to put away. She fingered the matting thoughtfully, reluctant to put it back. She'd love to have this, a sweet, funny reminder of their early days together, even if they had been discussing the mission and establishing their cover.

“I’m a freelance digital artist, so yes, but your pictures specifically only make up about a quarter of my income.”

“What else have you done?” he asked, seemingly genuinely interested.

“Well I do commissions mostly. I’ve illustrated a few children’s books, done some game graphics, a little bit of graphic design, that sort of thing.”

The rest of the drive passed in a similar fashion until they reached Billingshurst and her satnav directed her into an almost empty church car park. Her phone bleeped and Tom saw the message ‘Is that you? Jess xx’ flash on screen.

“That’s her,” Sally said, pulling up to the only other car here, a red family sized Ford Taurus.

The carpark was surrounded by bushes and trees but Tom pulled his flat cap down and fidgeted with his wax jacket, worried about being spotted.

“Oh my God, it’s really you!” A small blonde girl gushed as she pelted out of the car. “I thought she was pulling my leg!”

“Ssh!” An older girl admonished as she came to stand beside her and stroked her hair with familiar affection. “Keep it down, love.”

They all seemed uneasy to be outside and hurried introductions were made.

“I’m Jess, this is my little sister, Emma, I’m so glad we could help you out with this.”

“You better get going,” Sally reminded them, embracing Jess. “Good luck in London.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Sally in one of his all encompassing hugs, rocking her side to side.  She hid her grin bashfully in his chest.

“Thanks so much for your help, love.  We won't forget it!”  He passed her to Taylor, who hugged her too, and whispered to her.  Sally blushed, but fished out a business card from her pocket and passed it discretely to her.

Tom climbed into the front again, while Taylor sat behind him and Emma sat behind her sister. It might have seemed happenstance but careful thought had gone into it. Because he was the lesser known of them both, Tom took the front seat. Taylor sat in the passenger side because they were mostly travelling on main roads, without pedestrian pavements or sidewalks, so she was less likely to be spotted, although she turned to face the middle of the car as they progressed through the village.

“I can't believe Taylor Swift is in my car!” Jess said, trying to contain her excitement.

“Ssh,” her sister returned the earlier admonishment, earning herself a chuckle from her older sister. Taylor grinned at Emma, elbowing her playfully. Emma giggled and elbowed her back.

Jess looked to be about college age, while her sister, Emma was perhaps 8 or 10 years old.

“Not that is isn’t lovely to meet you too, Tom,” Jess hurriedly added, afraid of inadvertently giving offence, “but Taylor claimed my loyalty long before I knew who you even were.”

“Quite all right,” Tom chuckled. “I’m sure Emma will be my fan won’t you?”

“I like Taylor!” the girl proclaimed. “You tried to kill Iron Man, and Thor.”

“No I didn’t,” he played along, “I knew they’d survive.”

Emma huffed and crossed her arms, but she was only playing. “Oh yes? How did you know that??”

“I saw the script.” Tom deadpanned.  Emma laughed delightedly.

“I hope it’s alright that I brought her?” Jess interjected, casting a glance in the rearview mirror. “She just adores you, Taylor, we both do, but I also thought a kid would help us blend in, no one’s expecting you to be traveling with a child.”

“I don’t mind one bit,” Taylor smiled at her small fan. Emma grinned back.

“Great. Well if you want to tell me where in London we’re going, I can program it into the satnav and it’ll give us an ETA.”

“I think Buckingham Palace is probably the best location to head for, right darling?” he asked Taylor.

“Tom, I’ve just had a horrible thought.”

He turned in his seat to look at her.

“London is covered with CCTV cameras and VEG must have hacked into the feeds by now. They’ll use facial recognition software, so even with our fans throwing VEG off the scent with fake tweets, they’ll find us within minutes once we leave the car. Maybe less as I’m sure they’re congregating around the places they know we’re likely to show.”

“Damn,” Tom muttered, realising she was right. All of this would be for naught if they were caught at the final furlong. He chewed on his lip, thinking.

“Can I help?” Jess asked as the silence in the car became oppressive.

“Not unless you can magic up a few thousand people we can blend in with,” Taylor replied offhandedly.

“Say no more!” Jess grinned. “I don’t know if I can get a few thousand, but certainly a few hundred!”

“What? How?” Tom demanded.

“Well if you both promise to do a little impromptu show, I think we can do it.”

Emma bounced in her seat, clapping her hands together in delight. “Yes!”

“A show? Like a live concert?” Taylor asked, thinking of the logistical nightmare.

“I was thinking more like an unplugged event, just you, a guitar, a couple of amps, set it up somewhere near where you want to go.”

“You can do that in an hour and a half?”

“Well the longer the better, most of your fans are working, but we’ll hit London in rush hour and if we travel around the M25 and enter from the East or North…” She paused, working it out, “First, they won’t be expecting us to come in that way and second, it’ll give your fans longer to congregate. If we say you’ll be there at about seven pm, that gives people a few hours to get there.”

Tom and Taylor shared a look.

“I don’t mind playing a short gig,” Taylor nodded.

“I’ve got a few standards I can sing. Badly, but I can sing them.”

Emma clapped her hands and cheered. “I get front row seats, right?”

“You sure do,” Taylor agreed. “And maybe you can help me sing a song?”

She thought for a second she thought she’d given the poor girl an aneurysm or something as she completely froze, her mouth gaping open and eyes wide, then seconds later an ear shattering squeal filled the car. All the adults winced.

“I’m going to sing with Taylor Swift!”

“Not if you don’t keep it down for a while,” Jess told her, slipping her Bluetooth ear piece on. “Call Katie,” she ordered.

Over the next five minutes she managed to contact ten friends to help spread the word, then Tom and Taylor both borrowed her phone to tweet about their impromptu concert.

Next Jess called a number of her friends and arranged things such as guitars, amps and power. The things she couldn’t organise, such as a licence, Tom and Taylor did by calling MI Pi headquarters on Tom’s secure phone and having them sort it. They had people in all government branches, so they assured her that the necessary permits would be given in time for the concert.

Letting people know where they were going to be was a huge risk, but it was one they had to take. Still, as the car turned off the ring road and they began the journey into London, they shared a worried look.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jess pulled the car into the car park under Hyde Park. Since it was evening there was plenty of choice and she chose a corner space, then phoned one of her friends. 

“Okay, they’re in the stairwell,” Jess declared, looking around before she got out of the car. The car park seemed empty so they ran for the stairwell door, only to be greeted by about a dozen people on the other side, mostly women but two men among the group. About half of them appeared to be struck dumb but the other half gushed, talking over each other as they tried to speak to their idols. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Jess reminded everyone. “Come on.” 

“There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate later,” Taylor assured them. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

They headed up but paused by the door to Park Lane. 

“Okay,” a redheaded woman said, opening a bag. “We raided a bunch of t-shirt shops and bought these and we’ve been passing them out,” she said, handing Tom and Taylor a Loki and a 1989 t-shirt. “They’re not all the same but they’re similar. We also told women to try and wear some red, and men to wear something green.”

Tom pulled his coat and t-shirt off, put the green Loki shirt on. He was about to pull the coat back on when Taylor stopped him. 

“The French agent might have given them a description of our jackets,” Taylor warned.

“I’ll swap with you,” one guy offered, so they exchanged.

“Where are we heading?” Jess asked. 

“The bandstand in Hyde Park, it’s near Hyde Park Corner,” Taylor replied as she pulled the 1989 t-shirt over her existing one and swapped her coat with another girl in the group who had a red one.

“Should be easy enough,” Jess noted, “We’re not far from there.” 

“We got hats too,” someone else said, handing them each a baseball cap, and a couple more for the group so they weren’t alone.  

“I suggest we split up into groups,” the redhead reasserted herself. “There are 16 of us so we’ll have a group of nine go first. We’ll be as loud and exuberant as possible to draw attention away from the rear group. The seven that follow behind need to keep Tom and Taylor to the middle if possible, try to shield their faces by keeping them in the middle but don’t be conspicuous about it. and leave about ten to fifteen feet between groups. Do not look back, we don’t know each other, got it?”

“Who died and make you Queen?” someone asked. 

“I’m a police officer with undercover training, I know a little something about blending in. Are we ready? Then let’s go.” 

The first group, including the redhead, exited onto the street and the others waited sixty seconds and followed them. There were more people around than either Taylor or Tom had expected and the group ahead of them, loudly singing Shake It Off, weren’t out of place even though they drew the eye. 

Tom and Taylor stood at the middle of their group but Tom suddenly had a better idea and picked Emma up, placing her on his shoulders. 

Her legs helped obscure his face while her added height acted as a barrier on one side for Taylor. No one would look twice at someone being so obvious. Hiding in plain sight, as his training had taught him. 

On Taylor’s other side was a tall black haired man and despite not knowing his name, Taylor linked arms with him. Tom in turn held hands with Jess who was beside him, so they made two couples who were definitely not Hiddleswift. 

It wasn’t far to the bandstand, not even half a mile, and the crowds around the thickened as they got closer. This was where everyone had been told to congregate after all. They knew VEG agents would be waiting for them here and Taylor tightened her grip on her bag, knowing that if she got overconfident now, they could well lose everything. 

The VEG agents were fairly easy to spot as although they had dressed to blend in, they were the only ones not enjoying themselves. Each time they spotted one they turned slightly so they back was to them, pretending to talk to whoever was on the opposite side. 

“Cheer up, guys,” Jess hissed. “I know this is life or death but at least act like you’re enjoying yourself.” 

Tom risked a glance around and saw that it was already too late as he spotted two dour looking women heading straight for them. He looked the other way and saw another one. He didn’t look behind but instead told them to “Run!”

They did, catching up with the group in front and blending in with them. Tom handed Emma to her sister as it was no longer safe for her to be with him, then he and Taylor removed their jackets to alter their superficial appearance. 

They were perhaps 200 meters from the bandstand, but up ahead they could see VEG agents coming out from the crowds and blocking their path. They didn’t draw their guns, which was a small mercy in these crowds. 

Tom could see only one option. 

“Hey guys!” he called, “It’s Taylor!” He snatched her cap off and pointed at her. 

She gave him a look of pure loathing but kept on running, then she realised why he had given her up. The hoard of fans gathered the bandstand were now running towards them, obscuring the VEG agents’ view of them. Fans were also running at them from each side and probably behind. 

“Taylor’s here!” Tom called again. “It’s Taylor, guys!” 

They were mobbed, people crowding around them on all sides until they could no longer run. 

“Get me to the bandstand!” Taylor called, “Come on, let’s do this!” 

One agent caught Taylor’s eye and the look of disgust on her features made her stand out from those around her. Taylor recognised the brown hair and pinched facial features as Chief Lard, head of the Very Evil Group. 

She was doing her best to push through the crowd to get at Taylor and Tom but she wasn’t getting very far. 

Progress to the bandstand was also slow but they were within 50 meters now. 

“I’m going to kill you!” Taylor saw Lard mouth at her. “I’m going to tear your skin from your body, strip by strip!” 

Taylor wasn’t impressed by the threats, although it was one of the most descriptive she’d heard. 

Finally they were at the bandstand and Taylor dropped down, out of sight so she could pull at the boards on the side of the base.

“Try to keep them from following, but don’t put yourselves at risk.” Taylor said as she pulled the panel off. “Tom, come on.” 

He crawled under the bandstand with her and someone replaced the decorative latticed panel after them. 

“There better be a way out of here,” Tom said. 

Fans were crowding around on all sides, blocking the light, so Tom turned the flash on his phone on to help them see. Taylor headed for a wooden panel in the middle, a trap door, which she opened to reveal stone steps going down. 

Tom hurried after her, letting the wooden door fall closed after him. Immediately a set of wall lights blinked on to aid their descent and they ran down the stone steps as quickly as they dared. The steps led to a tunnel which looked to be Victorian, and ran for about twenty meters until they came across a stainless steel wall blocking the entire tunnel. 

Taylor opened a panel on the wall to reveal a keypad and typed a code in, which opened a small doorway in the centre of the steel wall. The panel over the keypad fell closed and they rushed through the door, just as a nearly silent bullet whizzed past them. They just glimpsed someone behind them as they shut the door and a series of metallic thuds signalled more of her bullets hitting the steel. 

Tom breathed a sigh of relief but Taylor grabbed his hand and urged him on. 

“We still have to hurry.” 

“Why? They can’t get through that?” 

“Yes she can. The doors get harder to open as we go on.” 

“She?” 

“I think it’s the head of VEG following us, she’s cruel but not an idiot. Even a spy with nothing but a one day induction under their belt could override those doors.”

“Why?”

Taylor paused at the next steel door and placed her hand on a glass panel. 

“To trick anyone who follows into getting trapped,” she explained as a laser ran over the length of her palm before another door opened.  

“But why?” Tom demanded. It all seemed rather inefficient to him. 

“Because this is a route into the Queen’s home, Tom, and if this route was ever discovered, everyone with a grudge against the UK (and you guys have made a LOT of enemies over the centuries) would try and kill her. But don’t worry, there’s no way Lard’s getting through door three, it can’t be bypassed, and none of these doors open in reverse, if you want to leave the palace this way, you need the Queen’s fingerprints, DNA and codes known only to her, so Lard will be she’ll be trapped. A little knockout gas and our people will come in and handcuff her and anyone with her.” 

Taylor looked back and paused, waiting until she heard the first door open again before closing the new one. 

“Can't she shoot her way through?” 

“Not through these doors. If she had a bazooka, maybe, but anything else no. The last two doors are totally bomb proof, I doubt even a nuke could get through them.”

At the next door they both had to give retinal scans to be allowed through and at the fourth door, a machine pricked each finger and they had to wait while markers in their DNA were matched to their samples on file. Luckily MI Pi technology made the process exceptionally quick, taking only sixty seconds per sample. 

Once through that door, they had a free path until they got to the palace, and they both ran. 

“How long is this?” Tom asked. 

“End to end, just under a mile and we’ve probably got 70 percent to go. Why?” she glanced at him, a smirk on her lips. “Getting tired already?” 

Tom grinned in reply and upped his pace. 

They were both fit and reached the palace without being seriously winded. 

They knocked on an old wooden door with a cast iron handle. 

“Don’t be fooled,” she told Tom, “It’s got a steel core. Look up there.” She pointed to a camera. 

“State your business,” an electronic voice said. 

“Agents Treacle Tart and Pumpkin Pi checking in, Sir. We have the book of Solomon’s Sermons.” She got it out of her bag and held it up for the camera to see. “And there’s a little bit of a rat problem further back.”

Then they waited. 

“What’s taking so long?” Tom grumbled after five minutes. 

“They’re knocking the VEG agents out. Protocol says that can’t open the palace door while hostiles are in the tunnel, so we have to wait until they’ve been knocked out.”

“We’re also manually checking your results,” the electronic voice added. “Can’t be too careful.” 

“You never know when someone will develop the technology to fool a DNA test,” Taylor agreed. 

Finally, after an eternity, the door opened and they were literally swarmed by corgis. 

“Oh!” Taylor cried. Not knowing what to make of the tiny army. 

“This is the final test,” Tom said, pleased to be able to explain something to her. “They’re trained to sniff out explosives and gunpowder, things like that.”

“How do you know that when I don’t?” she asked, bending down to pet them. 

“I went to school with her grandson,” he grinned, picking a particularly friendly corgi up and giving it a cuddle.

A polite cough drew their attention to the doorway where a gentleman in a very smart suit stood. 

“You requested an audience with the Queen?” 

“We did, Sir,” Tm stepped forward. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Please follow me.” 

They did, but Tom kept a hold of the corgi. The rest ran around their ankles, their fluffy little corgi bums wiggling with excitement. 

They were led through what felt like miles of corridors until they entered a slightly more worn area and were told to “Wait here,” as the man entered the room and announced them. 

Tom and Taylor were led into what seemed like a private sitting room, and Queen got up from a very comfortable looking armchair. 

Tom and Taylor bowed. 

“Well, you have led my people on a very merry chase,” she said. “We’ve had seven teams searching for you but every lead we followed was a dead end.”

“Sorry about that,” Tom apologised. 

“I take it that you were successful. 

“Yes, Fruitcake,” Taylor said with a smile.. “We have the book.” 

The Queen nodded and stepped closer. 

“I was told that you could not succeed and that contingency plans had to be put in place,” she smiled at Tom. “I told them to watch the Night Manager. Jonathan Pine always gets his man, or book in this case.” 

“Thank you Your Fruitcake. I mean, Your Highness.”

“Ma’am is fine.” She turned to Taylor. “And you have been proving yourself for nearly ten years, Agent Treacle tart. Once again, Britain finds herself in your debt.”

“It was nothing, Your Highness.” 

“It is very much not nothing,” she huffed. “I am also given to understand that you called on some rather… unusual resources to aid you.”

“We did, Ma’am,” Taylor agreed. 

“I understand that you have a party to throw this evening, and quite a hassle it was getting permits for that! So your debriefing will be tomorrow. Pay special attention to those who aided you whom you think may make good recruits, but all will be rewarded.”

Tom and Taylor smiled at each other, answering, “Yes, Ma’am,” in unison. 

“Very good. Now, if you’ll be so good as to give me the book and unhand my corgi, I have a car waiting to return you to the park.”

Taylor handed her the book and Tom put the dog down, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

“Thank you very much, Ma’am,” they said, backing away. 

The suited man, probably a butler or personal secretary, was waiting for them in the hallway. 

“If you will follow me.” 

They did. “What will happen to the recipe?” Taylor asked him. 

“As a precaution it will be posted online this evening, available to everyone; nothing posted online ever truly goes away. We also have plans in place for mass production, but that may take a little longer.”

“What about the VEG agents in the park?” 

“They are being rounded up as we speak but most importantly, we have Chief Lard in custody. She’s being transferred to Gruinard Island this evening, where she will be thoroughly interrogated.” 

“Gruinard? Isn’t that the island they tested Anthrax on?” Tom frowned.

“There was never any anthrax, that was merely to keep people away. It has been an MI Pi prison and interrogation centre since 1942.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yes. We have some very good drugs now, she’ll be singing all of her secrets in no time.” He led them into a suite of rooms. “You cannot take overly long but Her Highness thought you might like to freshen up, and possibly change clothes. Ring the bell when you are ready.”

There was a bathroom, dressing table with makeup, and a closet of clothes for both sexes and in a range of sizes and styles. They both had a quick wash, then changed into more appropriate clothes and Taylor applied a little makeup. It was the fastest she could remember getting ready for a concert since she was a teenager. 

“Ready?” Tom asked as she checked her reflection one last time.  

“Ring the bell,” she told him. 

The same man appeared and smiled at Taylor. “You look perfectly charming, my dear.” 

“Thank you, Agent Eclair.” 

“You’re a pastry?” Tom ask, not even realising the man was an agent, let alone so highly ranked. 

“I am personal secretary to the Queen, of course I have a high rank.” 

“Yes, forgive me, I didn’t realise.”

“Why does the queen have this?” Taylor asked as Agent Eclair locked the room. 

“She is the head of MI Pi and as such, frequently has spies drop in unannounced. It has proven useful many times.” 

He led them down the stairs and to a courtyard where they found a Rolls Royce and police escort waiting for them. 

“We’re less than a mile away,” Taylor observed. “We don’t need a posh car and a police escort. A cab would do.”

“None the less, Agent Tart, we British do like a certain degree of pomp and circumstance.” He smirked. “The car will wait for you and when you are finished, take you to the Dorchester, where a room has been booked.”

“Just one room?” Taylor asked. As far as MI Pi knew, their dating was still just a cover story. 

Agent Éclair simply raised a haughty eyebrow in reply, asking if she was serious.  

“Come on,” Tom urged her into the car with a hand in the small of her back. “It’s been a long few days, let’s get this over with.”

They got into the rear of the car and realised there were two people in the front and the passenger turned to them. 

“Better buckle up,” he said with a grin. “Might not be a long trip but you two tend to attract trouble.”

“Mince Pi!” Taylor exclaimed. “We thought you were dead?” 

“I’m a hard man to kill,” he assured them as the car pulled away. 

His left arm was in a cast and his left eye had a patch over it but he had colour coordinated the patch to his burgundy leather jacket, so clearly although he was injured, his spirit wasn’t broken.

“How badly are you hurt?” Tom asked. 

“I’m pretty banged up,” he said, growing serious. “I’ve got more metal in my arm than bone now and the eye is beyond saving, but once it’s healed they’ve promised me a shiny new bionic eye, I’ll be good as new. I’ll back flying in six months, you just watch.” 

“We believe you,” Tom smiled. 

The journey wasn’t long, a mile along Constitution Hill, so they had hardly started speaking than the car was slowing to a stop. 

“Looks like we’re here,” Mince said but Tom and Taylor hesitated to leave. 

“You don’t want to keep your fans waiting, do you?” Mince Pi asked. “I;ll be waiting when you’re done, and we can catch up properly tomorrow. My boyfriend will be debriefing one or other of you and he promised to sneak me in for a visit.”

Taylor leaned forward enough to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Take care, man.” Tom said as he shook his hand 

then they got out of the car and found a few people waiting for them, roadies Taylor might normally call them, except these people were not hers. They guided her and Tom to the bandstand and Taylor was shocked to see how much had been accomplished in the hour they were gone. 

Seats, microphones and acoustic guitars had been placed in the bandstand for their use. On either side sat large screens mounted on flatbed trucks, along with speakers with the BBC logo on them, and two cameras were pointed at the bandstand, along with a BBC van parked behind, probably to mix the feeds. The screens were nowhere near the size of those for a stadium concert but then again, she usually played to crowds of around 80,000. Here there were perhaps 2-3,000 people. 

“You guys did all this?” she looked around the roadies and BBC employees who had clearly set this all up. “Thank you.”

She hopped up onto the bandstand and headed for a mic stand. 

“I want to thank you all for coming out here tonight,” she said, waving at Emma when she spotted her in the crowd. “It means so much to Tom and I that you were here for us when we needed you most. Thanks to you, the world is a better place - and you'll understand what I mean by that very soon.” 

She held her hand out towards Tom, urging him forward, and he stepped up beside her and took her hand, smiling and blushing at the same time. 

“As a thank you, we’re going to sing a few songs for you now. I hope you enjoy them.” 

She headed for the guitar stands and brought both back with her, handing one to Tom, who held his hands up. 

“You’re the musician,” he argued. 

“Don’t even try to tell me you don’t remember anything from I Saw the Light and a few classics from when you were learning.”

He shrugged modestly and she thrust the guitar forward, leaving him little option but to grasp it. 

Tom knew enough music to be able to accompany her, even if he didn’t know how to play her songs. 

“What do you want to start with?” she asked.

“Do you know Bob Dylan’s Simple Twist of Fate?”

Taylor smiled and nodded and they both approached the microphones. 

“We’re going to start with a classic,” Tom said. “I hope you like it.”

Taylor let him play the main melody and accompanied him. They took the verse in turns, harmonising on the chorus.

“ _ They sat together in the park, as the evening sky grew dark, she looked at him and he felt a spark, tingle to his bones _ ,” Tom held her gaze while he sang and she smiled shyly. 

Despite their lethargy, they crowd kept them energised. 

As Tom looked out, he expected to see a sea of red for Taylor’s fans, but there was a surprising amount of green too; more people that he had expected had turned out for him and he appreciated each one of them. 

Taylor went next with Wildest Dreams and asked Emma up to help her with the song. Emma had a sweet soprano voice that was surprisingly effective on the chorus. When they were finished, Taylor kissed her cheek, leaving a big red lipstick mark, then Emma returned to her sister. 

Next Tom chose Why Don’t You Love Me Like You Used To Do, then Taylor chose Love Song, Tom picked Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door. Blank Space was followed by Move It On Over, then Everything Has Changed, More Than Words, 22, Let Her Go and New Romantics. 

They had performed for well over an hour and were tired but they accepted calls for one last song and finished with Hey Jude, getting everyone to join in until it felt like the whole of London as singing.

They were reprising the sing-a-long ending when Taylor spotted Lard in the crowd. 

She stopped singing but with so many joining in, they drowned out the speakers so no one noticed. 

Taylor’s head swam with questions. If it wasn’t Lard in the tunnels, then who had been trapped? Or had Lard escaped? Was the Fruitcake all right? Lard edged through the crowds until she was close enough to raise a weapon and fire. Taylor couldn’t say anything because if she tried to warn those around Lard, there was a very good chance they would try to defend Taylor and Tom and end up shot for their efforts. 

She couldn’t risk that and she couldn’t reach Lard herself, so she did the only thing she could, she got off the stool and stood up to make herself a better target. 

She wasn’t giving up though, and frantically looked around for something, anything she could use as a throwing weapon. She’d have to start carrying throwing stars so she was never without a weapon. From the corner of her eye she saw Lard raise the gun and still unable to see a weapon, she tried to turn her guitar so it would offer her some protection but she didn’t have much range of motion with the shoulder strap on. 

The headstock exploded in a shower of splinters and surprised by the miss, she turned to the crowd in time to see Agent Sweetie Pi, or Olly, wrestling Lard for the gun; the commotion had caused a hollow to form around the pair. 

Taylor jumped onto the bandstand railing and used it to launch herself over the crowd and land in the hollow, right on Lard, who was turning to aim at Olly. 

She rolled to her feet immediately and sprang back on Lard, forcing her to the ground and pinning both her hands up behind her back, although she struggled hard to get free. 

Tom joined them, folding Olly into a large hug. He hadn’t seen him since Rome and he’d been wondering what had happened to his friend. 

“Stay down, bitch,” Taylor told Lard. “Don’t make me put you down in front of all these people  _ and _ cameras.”

Realising she’d already been publicly humiliated already, Lard stilled, unwilling to embarrass herself further. 

“Say, could you guys stop hugging for just a sec and maybe give me some handcuffs or, I don’t know, help in any way?” 

The guys separated and Olly, the only agent actually dressed for a mission, handed her his zip tie cuffs. 

“Agents are on the way,” he assured her, helping her up and dragging Lard to her feet also. “You two should go,” he pointed to the path behind the bandstand where they could see Mince Pi waving from the Rolls Royce. 

A number of other agents began to emerge from the crowd until Lard was surrounded and both Tom and Taylor felt safe enough to leave her in their care.

“Come on.” Tom slung an arm around Taylor’s shoulders and they headed back to the car. 

“I bet I know what you two are gonna get up to tonight,” Mince Pi winked as they drove off. 

“A nice long shower,” Tom replied. 

“No, a bath,” Taylor amended.

“And then?” Mince gave them a knowing look. 

“Food,” Tom answered. 

“Then sleep,” Taylor added.

“For at least ten hours.”

“Twelve.” 

“Twelve,” he agreed. 

“Gee, you’re really living the rockstar life, all right,” Mince sounded miffed. 

True to their word they bathed together, sharing a bottle of wine while they relaxed, then they shared a cheese platter to sate their hunger, before finally falling into bed, exhausted, and snuggling up together. 

“Night,” Tom muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Mmm,” was the most Taylor was capable of in reply, but she pressed a kiss to his chest.

Moments later they were sound asleep.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Epilogue

Taylor stood in the bath looking into the vanity mirror, holding a tube of her favorite crimson lipstick and rubbing her lips together, making sure that color is even and smooth. She checked her hair, rolled into an elegant chignon on at the base of her neck, sweet blonde tendrils escaping the updo, turning her head back and forth to make sure everything is in order. She touched the stakes pushed into her hair that both stabilized the updo and doubled as very sharp weapons, if necessary.

One last check in the mirror. Hair, eyeliner in a good swoop, lipstick, check. Scanning further down, the black velvet gown bared her shoulders, just enough boob showing, skimming her figure, the gown slit to her thigh concealing the thigh holster just above the split.  She checked her weapon one last time, making sure she could reach it easily, and slid it back into its holster.  She wore her stupidest high black heels. Taylor stuck her tongue out at her image in the mirror. If her gramma could see her now, she'd be fainting over her Bible! Taylor smirked. Good, that's just what she was aiming for.

Tom shrugged into his dinner jacket, settling it over his shoulders properly and shooting his cuffs. He turned at the sound of the door opening and caught his breath as Taylor emerged, both hands up and securing an earring. Satisfied with the earring, her hands slipped down over the velvet of her dress, skimming her ribs and hips as she sauntered across the room, carefully not looking at Tom on the other side of the bed. 

Swaying her hips, she moved to the dressing table and plucked up the perfume Tom had given her, the citrusy one that complemented his aftershave. She had made sure that his pheromone cologne was safely locked up tonight, not wanting to risk the riot that might happen with all the fan girls at the ceremony. She sprayed a touch of perfume on her wrists and rubbed them over her neck. Then she moved the slit in the black velvet gown away and spritzed perfume on the backs of her knees. She capped the bottle and set it down just as she sensed a looming presence at her back.

"God's, darling. You are the most edible thing in the entire British Empire and all the Nine Realms..."

Tom buried his lips in the crook of her neck as she smiled smugly. Mission accomplished.  He bit lightly at the back of her neck. 

"If you weren't just about to stand up in front of the queen, my darling, I would tear this lovely, sexy frock from your even lovelier, sexier, body and have my way with you!"

Taylor curled an arm up behind and around his neck as his hands roamed over her breasts.

"Thomas... it unzips in the back," she whispered.

His hands swept around her ribs and found her zipper as he hummed deliciously in her ear, sliding it slowly down. His fingertips delicately slipped the black spaghetti straps  one by one off her shoulders and the garment slithered down her body, leaving her in a lacy black strapless bra, a matching thong, and her thigh holster over stiletto heels. His hands came around to cup her breasts as he groaned again in her ear.

“Tom?” She whispered.

“Hmm?” He answered as his thumbs swept over the taut nipples in her bra.

“Don't mess up my hair…”

Tom chuckled darkly into the back of her neck.

“As you wish, my darling.” Tom turned her and pushed her up against the wall, one hand sliding under her bra cup and the other lifting and pulling her leg up around his hip.

The delicious things he was doing to her breast…  Tom yanked her bra down, lowering his head, he lifted a breast to his mouth, kissing and licking his way to her sweet nipple, flicking it with a tongue tip.

“Better than pudding.” he murmured against her taut flesh.

 

“T-Tom!” She moaned as he ground his hips into hers. With the shoes she was just the perfect height.

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small foil packet, handing it to Taylor. She tore the thing open with her teeth and shook the wrapper away.

 

Tom's hand moved to unzip his trousers and push them down to free his length. Taylor whimpered as she felt his hot heaviness break free and fall against her. She slid the condom over his hard silken flesh, seating it firmly.

 

“Such an eager girl…”

 

“You better believe it, Buster!” She growled back at him. “Don't keep me waiting!”

 

Tom's hand slid down, down, between them, dipping, circling around her entrance. She lifted her hips, feeling his fingertip slide into her, whimpering for more.

 

More she gets. Tom's finger moves up, searching out and circling the sensitive gem of her clit.

 

“Tom!" She strangles on his name, “please…”

 

He circled and circled, enjoying her pleading, helpless little noises until he couldn't stand it anymore. Taking himself in hand, he traced the head of his cock over her folds, bent his knees and thrust up al the way home into her.

 

Taylor swore, pushing her hips forward, one hand going into the back of his hair and the other grasping and clutching his ass, nails digging into him and her heel moving higher, using her leg muscles to pull him closer, forcing him to thrust into her harder.

 

Tom gropes and paws at Taylor's breast, his other hand grasping her thigh and steadying her for his thrusts. She undulated against him, throwing her head back.

 

Tom's lips slid down the column of her long pale throat, barely retaining enough sense not to mark her there. She panted into his ear and arched against him.

 

“Tom, I'm going to –“ she gasped and he groaned as she cried out and went rigid. The fluttering and squeezing of her strong internal muscles around his cock sent him over, rising onto his toes to drive far as possible into her wet heat.

 

Taylor just stopped herself from slumping into his pristine white shirt front. Crimson lipstick smeared over his buttons would not do at all, but she would really like to melt into a puddle right now, thank you very much.

 

“All right, love?” Tom asked quietly and as he gently slid her leg down to the floor. Her thundering heart began to slow its quest to pound its way out of her chest, and she opened her eyes, staring into his lovely blue gray. She nodded and hummed vaguely.

 

Tom lifted her slender wrist and glanced at the elegant timepiece there. Regretfully he told her that the car would be there to pick them up in 10 minutes.

 

“Car?” She blinked at him. “Oh! Right! Damn…”

 

Tom laughed and stepped back, turning to discard the condom, straightening his clothing, tucking his shirttails into his trousers, and smoothing a hand over his short blond curls.

 

Taylor marveled that half a minute before he had been coming loudly and violently inside her, and now with a few simple adjustments he looked calm, and ready to meet the Queen. Bitter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

 

He picked up her dress and helped her step back into it, sliding up the shoulder straps and zipping her in. She dashed back into the bath to check the full-length mirror and saw that she had chewed her lipstick. She quickly remedied that and tossed the lipstick into her clutch. She went to take Tom's arm.

 

“Shall we?” He said, gesturing at the door just as the driver buzzed his cell phone letting them know that he had arrived.

 

Tom and Taylor’s status as spies was  now no longer a secret, how could it be given everything that had happened? That meant that they could no longer be used for covert spying missions, so for the last month they had been enjoying themselves, mostly on a private island. 

Their spying career wasn’t truly over though, as a double bluff they would still work some missions, although perhaps fewer than before, and they could still provide help to other agents by drawing the attention of security and acting as a distraction.

This evening they were attending a gathering at the palace where the fans who had helped Tom and Taylor would receive the George Medal, an honour given to civilians for acts of bravery. 

Jess and Lisette had been offered spying positions with MI Pi and had accepted, as had Annie, which they eventually discovered was the name of the red headed police officer who had organised the fans that day. Lilly and Yvette had refused a full time position but both had agreed to undergo training and become sleeper agents, people who could be called upon by an agent or the agency when options were few. 

MI Pi itself remained a secret, as did the identity of the Fruitcake, but the Queen bestowed all such honours and thus no one thought it at all odd that she was to present these medals. Only fully trained agents were allowed to know who the head of MI Pi was.

Tom and Taylor were also receiving an honour, they were being made Commanders of the British Empire, although with Taylor, being an American citizen it was only an honorary title, not one she could use. 

This special honours list had been made public but the ceremony itself was closed, with press being stopped at the gate. Tom and Taylor didn’t stop to talk to them but they knew they were being photographed entering the palace and stopped to wave. 

Since their covers were already blown, it had been revealed that they had retrieved the recipe (which the internet had named ‘nectar’) helping to publicise it. The government was mass producing it but and were expected to start giving it away next week. It was free because, as the great Fruitcake herself had proclaimed, ‘everyone deserves to be happy’. The launch was being publicised with a televised concert by Tom, Taylor and some special guests.  

When they entered the palace the corgi’s sniffed at them, and when Taylor and Tom walked away, one followed, jumping up at Tom, begging for attention. 

Tom stooped to pick it up, unable to resist even if it did leave hair on his nice black tuxedo. 

Taylor smiled indulgently and shook her head. 

“I seem to have made a friend,” he said. 

“Don’t even think of bringing that home.” 

“Why not? I’m sure she’ll get on well with the cats.”

“Yeah, but I'm pretty sure stealing one of the Queen’s corgis is treason or something.” 

Tom kept hold of the corgi for most of the night because each time he tried to put the dog down, she jumped up at him, demanding to be picked up again. 

There weren’t that many people present, less than 100, comprised of people who had helped them and their two guests each. Tom and Taylor mixed and mingled with those present, chatting, thanking them and catching up, until Sally presented them with a wrapped present. 

“What’s this?” Tom asked, and Taylor watched with a smile on her face. 

Tom put the corgi down and tore the paper off to reveal the original artwork of Mini-Hiddles and Mini-Taylor sitting on the rocks at Rhode Island, mounted and framed. 

“Is this for us?” he asked Sally. 

“I bought it,” Taylor explained. “I thought it was a nice memory of those first days.”

Tom turned to her. “It’s lovely.” He gave her a chaste kiss and turned back to Sally. “You’re really very talented. Thank you for this.”

She was blushing furiously, so he didn’t tell her that he intended to tweet a picture of it. He’d let the boost in sales come as a nice surprise. 

The corgi was still scratching at his leg but as he bent to pick the mischievous dog up, a bell was rung, signifying that the award’s ceremony was about to begin. 

“Heel,” Tom commanded, and the dog stopped jumping. 

Taylor looked impressed. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you,” she teased. 

“That and more,” he fired back. “I’ll show you later, if you’re a good girl.”

A servant took the frame for them and linking arms, Tom and Taylor made their way to the seating area and platform from where the Fruitcake would bestow the honours. 

Tom and Taylor were called to approached the platform together and they stood before the Queen, at just about the same height thanks to the ten inch platform she stood on.

She placed the ribbon with the badge of the Order around their necks. 

“I hope you’ve been keeping well since last we met,” she made some small talk. 

“Very well, Ma’am” Tom smiled. 

“Yes, don’t think I didn’t see that rock,” she levelled a stare at Taylor. 

Taylor blushed. She hadn’t hidden the ring, exactly, it was just that they hadn’t been out in public much since Tom had proposed. 

“And since she seems to have taken such a liking to you, Pumpkin Pi” Queen Elizabeth looked down at their feet, where the corgi sat as if waiting for her own honour “I give you Whiskey as a wedding present.” 

“Thank you,” Tom grinned. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“I’m sure you will. Just be glad it wasn’t Honey who liked you, she is a terrible bed hog.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness. We’ll send you an invitation to the wedding,” Taylor assured her. 

"An invitation? I expect to officiate, my dear.”

“Can you do that?” Taylor asked.

“I am head of the Church of England, I can do whatever I like.” 

Tom didn’t know what to say to that, except you didn’t refuse your Queen, especially when she was also your boss. 

“That would be, wonderful, Ma’am.”

Whiskey yipped in agreement. 

***

“Well good morning Chief Lard,” called the prison guard in a sing-song voice through the bars. “Did you sleep well last night?” he asked sweetly. 

“Fuck off!”

“Now now, there’s no need for that kind of talk, Miss Lard.” The prison guard chuckled. “Why dontcha eat yer happiness puddin’ for a change?” 

She turned slowly and fixed her beady eyes on him. “Not an ounce of that filth will ever pass my lips!”

“Now that’s just being a sore loser,” he shook his head. 

Lard looked at him as if he was a cockroach, a blight on humanity. 

“I will never eat that pudding so long as I live!” 

“I don’t see why not?” the guard said as she turned away. “I mean wars have ended thanks to this, crime is way down, and everyone’s just friendly to each other. ‘Cept you, ‘o course.” 

“I don’t want to be friendly!” she yelled. “I want power! Power makes me happy! Money makes me happy! Killing my enemies makes me happy! Being cruel to people simply because I can makes me happy! The pudding was a means to an end and IT WILL NOT MAKE ME HAPPY!”

“I might believe you if you’d ever tried some,” he shrugged. “So I take it we’re going for your regular black coffee for breakfast?” 

“Christ, man, this is a prison, you’re supposed to punish me, not take my breakfast order like my goddamn lackey! What is wrong with you happy people??” 

“Your punishment is being confined to this cell most o’ the day but being in prison doesn’t mean we have to be uncivilised. We want our prisoners to be happy and rehabilitated so they can become productive members of society again. Being mean and nasty don’t help no one.”

“Amateurs,” she muttered. 

“We beat your arse, so what does that say about you?” 

Chief Lard kept her gaze fixed on a spot on the opposite wall. The guard sighed in exasperation.

“Okay, one black coffee coming up, nice and bitter just like you.”

A minute or two later her breakfast was pushed through the foot hatch and on a tray lined with a doily sat a mini cafetiere of coffee, a white cup, a jug of cream, a pot of sugar… and a pot of pudding!

Why couldn’t they take no for an answer?

Once all the breakfasts were delivered to the other four maximum security prisoners, the guard returned to the central desk, from where he could see into every cell. 

“Oh by the way everybody,” he called out. “They’re replaying the Hiddleswift celebration concert all day today on the Happiness channel, yes, the one with three Tom and Tay duets, so we’re going to turn our set up so you can all enjoy it!”

There were general sounds of happiness from the other cells, except-

“ARRGH!” Lard screamed and threw the pot of pudding at the wall, watching as the plastic shattered and the disgusting sugary happiness dribbled down the wall. “Fucking Hiddleswift and their fucking fangirls!”

“Language,” the guard admonished. “That’s one demerit. Keep this up and I won’t let you play scrabble with the rest of us tonight.”

“I HATE SCRABBLE!”

The guard recoiled. “What kind of monster hates scrabble?”

Lard lay down on her bed and as the TV volume went up she heard the opening bars of Nobody Does it Better (reworked for the concert into a duet for Tom and Taylor) she put the pillow over her head and screamed into it. 

Would this nightmare never end? 

The End


End file.
